


The Ghost Of You (Hannigram)

by annikaone



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Angst, Blood Kink, Bloodplay, Dream Sex, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Gun Kink, Gunplay, Hallucinations, Hate Sex, Hurt/Comfort, I Will Go Down With This Ship, M/M, Murder Husbands, Sex, Smut, Someone Help Will Graham, Will Knows, Will Remembers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-10-25
Updated: 2014-12-31
Packaged: 2018-02-22 13:46:05
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 22
Words: 26,412
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2509940
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/annikaone/pseuds/annikaone
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Season 3 AU (Sort of) - takes place after Mizumono.</p><p>Will finds he can't cope without Hannibal, and vice-versa.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Abigail Hobbs is dead. 

Will expected as much. Paramedics didn't get there in time, and fate is a cruel thing; how could one survive a slashed neck twice? 

Hannibal told Will once that he was sorry for taking Abigail from Will. Will had assumed that Abigail was dead after that comment, but seeing her again had triggered thoughts he didn't want. Thoughts of a time before his murder(s), thoughts of times before he learned the truth about Hannibal, thoughts of a time when life was even remotely okay. Will's carefully constructed walls came crumbling down that night at Hannibal's. 

Will sees Hannibal everywhere after that, or at least he thinks he does. Hannibal's suit on a stranger, his cologne in the air at home, his voice ringing through the air in a clouded place. Will thinks he might be going crazy.

Will shakes his head in an attempt to clear his thoughts and tries to focus on the funeral. Freddie Lounds sits on Will's left, a black veil half covering her face. Freddie stares straight ahead, apparently as jarred by Abigail's murder as Will is, though she does a better job of hiding it. Will closes his eyes and breathes deeply, mentally wiping all thoughts from his mind except for the matter at hand. 

Freddie stares straight ahead, looking at nothing in particular. She feels somewhat responsible for Abigail's death, even if she played no physical hand in it. Freddie's "resurrection" had been big and loud, but Freddie had shrunk away from it, drawing in to herself. For weeks, the only people she's talked to have been Will Graham and Alana Bloom, even if Alana Bloom can't hear or understand-- or maybe she can-- what Freddie says. Add that to the list of things Freddie feels responsible for, and you have a hell of a lot of guilt. Freddie tries hard to keep her cool demeanor, pretending to look at a text on her phone to hide the tears brimming her eyes. 

Will gets up and leaves halfway through the service. Freddie watches him go but doesn't follow him.

The second Will clears the church, he pulls out his phone, dialing a number before he can stop himself. Will puts the phone to his ear and waits for the inevitable. 

_Hello, this is Doctor Hannibal Lecter. Please leave a message._  


"God dammit, Hannibal," Will says, pausing as his voice cracks. He closes his eyes and presses a hand over them. "This is all your fault."

Will hangs up--there's nothing left to say--and walks back inside.

Freddie looks up as Will walks back into the church, noticing the tears in his eyes as he sits back down beside her. 

Hundreds of miles away, Hannibal Lecter, sits alone in a cafe eating soup. His cell phone rings, but he ignores it. 

He knows it's Will.

There's a beep and message plays loud and clear, but only for him.

_God dammit, Hannibal._  


Hannibal can hear the crack in Will's voice, his struggle to hold back tears.

_This is all your fault._  


Hannibal sets his spoon down and leaves. He doesn't bother to pay the bill; he knows Bedelia will pick it up for him. 

Will Graham is everywhere. Hannibal swears he sees him all the time; Will's familiar mop of hair in the crowd across the street, Will's jacket hanging on a coat-rack in a restaurant, Will's cheap aftershave in the air at home. Hannibal thinks he might be going crazy. 

Bedelia has told Hannibal to let it go, move on from Will. How can he, when Will's messages ring through his phone every morning, without fail?

Hannibal has a hard time sleeping now. Maybe it's the dread of hearing Will's accusations-- because they undoubtedly are-- in the morning, maybe it's because he feels guilty. Hannibal honestly doesn't know which one it is. He's considered throwing away his phone, but that would mean he'll never hear Will's voice again. 

Will doesn't know why he calls Hannibal anymore. Hannibal never answers.

Hannibal doesn't know why Will calls him anymore. He never answers. 

Will tears up every time he calls Hannibal, his voice cracks every time he leaves a message. 

Hannibal listens to the messages with an empty look in his eyes, staring at nothing. 

Will Graham is falling apart, and it's all Hannibal's fault. 


	2. Chapter 2

“I don’t know why I bother to call him anymore,” Will states, sitting by Alana Bloom’s hospital bed. “He never answers.”

Alana doesn’t respond.

She never does. Not anymore.

Hannibal’s fault.

Will stares at the space between Alana’s bed and the floor blankly as a nurse comes into the room to check Alana’s blood pressure and heart rate and to change out her IV.

Will supposes that that’s the irony of human existence; you live until you can’t, then you find someone to help you live. Will smiles dryly, remembering a quote from an old favorite show: when you can’t walk, you crawl, and when you can’t crawl, you find someone to carry you.

Will wonders if he needs someone to carry him.

Will sees the stag less now, surprisingly; only a fleeting glimpse of antlers out of the corners of his eyes every once in a while. He no longer gets the nightmares which he had come to accept as normal.

He sees the stag less, but he sees Hannibal more.

Will thinks he needs to snap out of it.

Alana Bloom’s machines beep steadily as Will walks out of the hospital room, the sound seeming to follow him all the way to his car.

Will absentmindedly realizes that he doesn’t have his license with him. Oh well. It’s not like he hasn’t been in jail before.

The drive back to Will’s house is silent, Will having broken the radio in a fit of bitterness the second he learned Abigail was dead. Will had been hoping against hope that Abigail could have somehow survived; and hope is more dangerous than any death.

Will wishes he hadn’t broken his radio, because he could definitely use some sound to cover up his thoughts.

Hannibal has a habit of going alone to cafes recently; this is the third one he’s found this week. He loves the quiet peace of cafes. In cafes, no one sees him. No talks to him. These days he’s been becoming more reclusive, worrying Bedelia to no end.

Will’s messages have become less frequent, and Hannibal wonders if Will has finally moved on. Hannibal grabs his coat and walks out of the café before his thoughts can become more poisonous.

Hannibal fights the urge to call Will, to let Will know that he’s is still alive and okay, to hear Will’s voice, hell, even to hear Will’s breathing.

Will fights the urge to call Hannibal, knowing that the outcome will be the same.

Three days later, Will gets the news that Jack Crawford is dead. Even after almost a week in ICU, Jack’s neck wound was too serious, and Jack couldn’t cheat death any longer.

Will goes home and throws his lamp into the wall. It shatters, giving him small satisfaction and scaring his dogs. Winston nuzzles against Will’s hand, but Will walks away into the kitchen, fighting back tears as he smashes plates and glasses on the floor.

Will’s dogs gather together in fright as Will throws on his jacket and boots, grabbing his phone and stomping outside.

Will dials Hannibal for the first time in two days.

_This is Doctor Hannibal Lecter. Please leave a message._

“Hannibal, you’ve done it,” Will almost laughs. “You’ve taken down the great Jack Crawford.”

Will pauses as tears brim his eyes, looking upwards and blinking fast, willing the tears to disappear.

“I, uh,” Will’s voice cracks, and he hates it. “I didn’t think you could do it.”

Will can imagine what Hannibal would say if he was here.

_But I did, didn’t I?_

“You did, you bastard,” Will shakes his head.

 _I told you I could_.

“You told me,” Will sucks in a breath. “You did.”

_And how does that make you feel?_

“It makes me feel like I fucking hate you, Hannibal.”

Will can practically feel Hannibal’s eyes on him.

_No you don’t._

“Of course I don’t.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (This work will probably be updated every day if I have time; every other day if I don't.)  
> The quote is from Firefly, in case anyone was wondering.


	3. Chapter 3

Jack’s funeral is quiet.

Bella came, wheeled in by the hospital staff, barely able to sit up in her wheelchair, and IV rolled in with her.

Will doesn’t know what to say to Bella other than,

“He loved you—loves you. So much.”

Bella doggedly smiles at him and grasps his hand in her own.

“He loved you too, Will. You were—,” Bella paused to cough, her hospital escort pushing an oxygen mask to her mouth. “You were like the little brother he never had.”

Will’s eyes sting with tears and he turns away from Bella, catching a glimpse of Freddie Lounds sitting alone in a pew, head bowed.

Freddie looks up and wipes her eyes as Will slides into the pew next to her.

“I’ve been…,” Will starts. “I’ve been hoping—wishing—that this is all a dream.”

Freddie stays silent, fearing that if she speaks, she’ll cry.

“But,” Will sighs. “Dreams don’t… they don’t hurt.”

Freddie bites her lip as Will rubs a hand over his eyes and sits forward, clasping his hands together.

“This hurts, Freddie,” Will says, his voice cracking. His voice does that a lot lately.

“I…” Freddie pauses to collect herself. “I think it has to hurt.”

Will looks at Freddie, expression unreadable.

“Pain motivates us,” Freddie says. “It breaks us; makes it so we have to rebuild ourselves. Rethink our lives, the way we do things.”

Will stares at Freddie for a moment, and Freddie feels like Will is picking her apart.

“Thank you,” Will murmurs quietly. “For being here. At Jack’s funeral. And at Abigail’s.”

“Of course, Will,” Freddie responds. She doesn’t mention that she came because she feels guilty.

Will gets up and walks out, leaving Freddie alone.

Will drives home in silence.

He still hasn’t gotten around to buying a new radio.

Halfway home, he pulls the car over, stumbling outside to throw up. Will briefly thinks that he hasn’t been this bad since before Hannibal. Will leans against his car, breathing in the fresh air and trying not to cry.

Will wonders what happened to the cold demeanor that he possessed only a few weeks ago; what happened to the emotionless man who murdered Randall Tier and “murdered” Freddie Lounds?

Will wishes he could go back to being a psychopath, but the loss of his only friends had shaken him to the core.

Will pulls out his phone and stares at it, fingers hovering over the keypad before deciding the better of it and shoving his phone back in his pocket.

Miles and miles away, Hannibal reads about Jack’s funeral on the internet. Headlining news for Virginia. Hannibal doesn’t feel guilty. No new messages from Will about Jack since that first—no messages about anything, for that matter. Hannibal doesn’t worry.

Will Graham can take care of himself.

Or at least that’s what Hannibal tells himself.

When Will gets home, the shattered lamp is still lying on the ground, the broken cups and plates still on the floor in the kitchen. Will sighs and begins to pick up the bigger pieces of glass on the floor, throwing the bits in a nearby trash can.

Will’s phone rings as he throws the last of the big glass chunks into the trash and Will cuts his foot on a small piece of glass in his haste to get to it. Will curses under his breath and answers the phone, not bothering to check caller ID. Only the important people have his number.

“Mister Will Graham?” A crisp female voice asks.

“Yes,” Will says, more of a question than a statement.

“I’m with the hospital that is taking care of Alana Bloom, Inova Fairfax Hospital,” the woman says. Will’s breath catches in his throat.

“Is-Is something wrong with her?” Will asks, fear clear in his voice. He’s not sure he can take another loss today.

“No, Mister Graham. She’s woken up—,”

Will hangs up, grabbing his coat and walking out the door, not bothering to check if it’s locked.

Will dials Hannibal before he gets in his car.

 _Please leave a message_ —

“You missed one, you bastard,” Will laughs.

He can just imagine the look on Hannibal’s face, the blank expression and the tilt of his head, trying not to give anything away.

“Alana made it.”

Hannibal, sitting alone at a library desk, stops what he’s writing and plays the message.

_You missed one, you bastard._

Hannibal can hear the joy in Will’s voice; after so much loss, it’s nice to finally gain something.

_Alana made it._

Hannibal sets his pen down, staring at the phone in something resembling disbelief.

Alana made it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wowowow I have a lot more kudos and hits than I ever expected, thank you guys so much.


	4. Chapter 4

Will runs a stop sign, almost wrecking his car on the way to the hospital.

The front desk attendant looks up in surprise as Will runs in.

“You must be Will Graham,” she says, amusement plain in her voice. “Go on back.”

Will wonders how everyone knows who he is, then he remembers his trial was a front page affair in Virginia.

Will jogs past the front desk, back to Alana’s room, breath labored with hope.

The nurse attending to Alana looks up as Will enters the room, quickly crossing the room and grabbing Will’s elbow, leading him outside into the hall.

“Will Graham?” The nurse asks. Will nods. “She’s awake—well, she’s sleeping right now—she’s been asking for you.”

Will looks at the nurse in confusion, wondering why he can’t go in if Alana’s been asking for him.

“She…,” The nurse’s voice falters, her eyes won’t meet Will’s. “She doesn’t remember that night. Everything else in her memory is perfectly intact, but it’s like that night is just _erased_. She doesn’t remember why she’s in the hospital, she doesn’t even remember going to Dr. Lecter’s house.”

Will’s breath catches in his throat.

“She doesn’t know…,” Will starts, voice wavering.

“No, she doesn’t know that Abigail Hobbs and Jack Crawford are dead.”

“How-how do you know?” Will asks the nurse, confused. Will’s eyes start to lose focus.

“It was in the news, honey,” The nurse responds, guiding Will into Alana’s room, sitting him in a chair by the bed. “I’ll be right outside if you need me.”

Will barely manages a nod of thanks as the nurse leaves the room. Will stares blankly at the space between the hospital bed and the floor, trying to gather his thoughts; a task that’s becoming increasingly harder.

“Hi,” Alana says weakly from the bed. Will hadn’t realized she was awake.

“Hi,” Will respond, breaking his gaze away from nothing and smiling at Alana.

“I could hear you,” Alana murmurs. “Everything you said—about calling Hannibal, about yourself, about work. Or, well, not work.”

“The nurse said you didn’t remember,” Will states, his voice barely above a whisper.

“Of course I remember,” Alana responds. “I remember too well. How could I forget?”

Will huffs a dry laugh, shaking his head.

“I can’t believe you let them think you didn’t remember.”

“Well, I am a psychotherapist,” Alana laughs. “I know how to trick my own kind.”

Will smiles, the first genuine smile he’s had in weeks.

Alana smiles for a moment, then bites her lip.

“Jack is dead, isn’t he?” Alana asks quietly, as if she doesn’t really want to know.

“Yes,” Will answers, his smile dropping, feeling the lump in his throat threaten to turn into tears.

“Abigail, too?” Alana whispers, tears brimming her eyes.

Will nods, not trusting himself to speak.

“I-I want to call him,” Alana says, tears tracing silent trails down her cheeks. “I want to call him like you did.”

Will slowly dials Hannibal’s number on his phone and hands the phone to Alana, walking out of the room so Alana can have some privacy.

Alana stares blankly at the phone as it rings, wondering why she’s doing this.

Alana thinks she must be a special brand of crazy.

_Hello, this is Doctor Hannibal Lecter. Please leave a message._

Alana’s tears threaten to spill over as she raises the phone to her mouth.

“I made it, Hannibal.”

 _Yes, you did._ Hannibal’s voice seems to ring through the room.

“You thought you killed us all, didn’t you?”

 _Perhaps_.

“Well suck on that, you bastard. We have two witnesses now, and a hell of a lot of prints, and that’s damning evidence.”

 _You’ll have to find me first_.

“We’ll find you, I guarantee it. It doesn’t matter that you’ve turned off your cell signal, it doesn’t matter that you could be in Antarctica. We will find you.”

Will Graham, listening outside the door, closes his eyes and pinches his fingers to the bridge of his nose.

Why couldn’t he have that much fire in his voice when he spoke to Hannibal?

“You broke me,” Alana continues. “You broke Will Graham, and for that you’ll pay.”

Will leaves. He doesn’t want to hear any more.

Hannibal Lecter plays the message, this time alone in his car. Hannibal is expecting Will’s voice, full of hope at Alana’s recovery; instead he gets Alana’s fiery words.

_I made it, Hannibal._

Hannibal pulls the car over.

_You thought you killed us all, didn’t you?_

“No, Alana, I half hoped I didn’t,” Hannibal says before he can stop himself.

_Well suck on that, you bastard. We have two witnesses now, and a hell of a lot of prints, and that’s damning evidence._

“You’ll have to find me first,” Hannibal responds to the message.

_We’ll find you, I guarantee it. It doesn’t matter that you’ve turned off your cell signal, it doesn’t matter that you could be in Antarctica. We will find you._

Hannibal half-smiles at the fire in Alana’s voice. He had always admired her passion.

_You broke me._

Under different circumstances, Hannibal might’ve laughed at the irony of her statement. Instead he stares straight ahead, eyes fixed on nothing in particular.

_You broke Will Graham._

Hannibal’s eyes flit to the phone.

_And for that you’ll pay._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for all the kudos, comments, and hits! Love you all! My kik is anni.__ if you have any pointers or whatever ^_^


	5. Chapter 5

Will leaves his phone at the hospital for three days.

He thinks Alana needs it more than he does.

He thinks he needs a break from Hannibal.

Alana uses the phone twice, once to call her mother, and once to call Hannibal again.

Alana doesn’t say anything to Hannibal. There’s nothing _to_ say. Hannibal destroyed her life and the lives of others, and she’s said all she can.

She doesn’t know why she called Hannibal; maybe she wanted him to pick up, maybe she wanted to know he’s alive? Alana knows that some part of her is still nursing the flame that Hannibal lit between them so long ago.

Will goes back to the hospital after the third day, talking briefly with Alana about what she’s missed; how the station is, how her dog Applesauce is doing. Will tells Alana that he’s been taking care of Applesauce, when in reality he hasn’t even thought about her dog—or any of his dogs—for days.

Will takes his phone home with him and charges it—it died on the way home from the hospital. He refills the dogs’ food dishes and takes a shower.

Will wonders if he’s actually alive or just going through the motions.

Will dreams about Hannibal that night; pleasant dreams, or maybe flashbacks from when Hannibal drugged him. Hell, he doesn’t even know what’s real anymore.

“Let’s run away,” Dream-Will says, voice slightly slurred, pointing a shaky finger at Hannibal.

“Where would you like to go?” Hannibal responds, smiling fondly at Dream-Will from where he sits in his usual chair.

“Anywhere, as long as it’s with you,” Dream-Will grins, sitting down on Hannibal’s lap sideways and looping an arm around Hannibal’s neck.

Hannibal kisses him, a soft, chaste kiss that makes Dream-Will smile and giggle slightly.

“Say the word,” Hannibal whispers.

Dream-Will kisses Hannibal, a hungry kiss that Hannibal deepens by moving Will so that Will’s legs are on either side of Hannibal, half-kneeling. Dream-Will pulls Hannibal closer with both hands on the sides Hannibal’s face, drawing him so close that Will can’t tell where he ends and Hannibal begins. Hannibal circles his arms around Will’s waist and stands up, willing Dream-Will to lock his legs around Hannibal’s waist. Hannibal walks to the desk, setting Will down on top of it and pulling back, promptly losing his suit jacket. Dream-Will bites his lip, pupils blown wide with desire, and pulls Hannibal back down by his tie.

Will wakes up sweating, and quickly stumbles out of bed. Will barely makes it to the bathroom before he loses what’s left of his dinner.

Will sits dazed on the bathroom floor for a good five minutes.

Once Will gathers his thoughts (and his stomach) he goes to his bedroom and grabs his phone off his dresser, dialing Hannibal. He knows he shouldn’t, but he has to ask.

_Please leave a message._

“Hannibal,” Will pants. “Did… did we ever _do_ anything? Sexually?”

For once, Will’s imaginary Hannibal is silent.

“Please,” Will’s voice cracks and he dissolves into tears. “I- I need to know… I need to- god dammit Hannibal, is there anything you haven’t taken from me?”

Will wants his imaginary Hannibal to say something, to reassure him, to confirm it, even.

“I’m going crazy.”

Will’s sobs echo through the house long after the message has ended itself.

Hannibal, thousands of miles away, plays Will’s message.

_Hannibal_.

Hannibal can hear Will panting, can hear the desperation in his voice.

_Did… did we ever_ do _anything? Sexually?_

“Oh, Will,” Hannibal’s stomach feels cold.

_Please…_

Will starts crying, and Hannibal tries hard to keep back the tears prickling his eyes.

_I-I need to know… I need to- god dammit Hannibal, is there anything you haven’t taken from me?_

Hannibal feels a single tear roll down his cheek.

_I’m going crazy_.

Will’s sobs fill the room.

The sound of Will falling apart is almost enough to make Hannibal pick up the phone and call Will.

Almost.

Hannibal throws his phone. It bounces off the wall and lands (mostly) unharmed on the bed, Will’s breakdown still playing through it.

Hannibal walks out of the room, Will’s crying following him through the house and to his car.

Hannibal realizes that he may have made a mistake with Will Graham.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hannigram almost sexy times yay ^_^  
> There'll be more, I promise.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for all the kudos and comments and hits guys!!

Will Graham is getting worse. He can’t close his eyes without seeing Hannibal Lecter.

Will desperately wishes that he could go back to the way he was when he killed Randall Tier, hell, even back before Matthew Brown.

Matthew Brown made Will feel things no one else had, except maybe Hannibal. Will isn’t sure any more. Will cuts off his train of thought before it can crash and focuses on making dinner: simple Kraft Mac n’ Cheese. Will can’t stop thinking about what Hannibal would cook if he were here, hell, he can’t stop thinking about Hannibal in general. His suits, his jawline, his cheekbones, his accent, his smell… Will feels hot; his eyes lose focus and his legs feel like jelly.

Will drops the spoon on his foot, splattering cheese all over the floor. His dogs come running to lick it up as Will stumbles towards the couch, darkness already eating away at the edges of his sight. Will’s last thought is “ _not again_ ” before he blacks out.

Dream-Will sits alone in Hannibal’s office, going through books on psycho-all kinds of things. Hannibal comes up behind him, looping his arms under Dream-Will’s arms and trying to pull him up. Dream-Will sits like a toddler, tightens his arms against his body, refusing to move despite Hannibal’s efforts. Hannibal sighs in exasperation and straightens up, walking around Dream-Will and sitting on the floor facing him. Dream-Will turns around, away from Hannibal, sulking.

“Will,” Hannibal says sternly, his voice bordering on threatening. “You’re being very infantile.”

Dream-Will says nothing.

“You know you can’t act that way around guests,” Hannibal sighs.

Dream-Will continues to give Hannibal the silent treatment.

“I told you when we started this; no public displays of affection in front of the guests.”

Some part of Will realizes that Dream-Will is upset because he couldn’t kiss Hannibal in front of people.

“I know you’re frustrated, Will, but you’re being a child.”

Dream-Will makes a sound resembling a growl in his throat and turns to face Hannibal.

“Oh, I am not a child,” Dream-Will hisses.

“Prove it,” Hannibal smirks, putting his elbows on his knees and folding his hands.

Dream-Will launches himself at Hannibal, knocking the older man off balance. He kisses Hannibal hard, feeling Hannibal smile into the kiss. Dream-Will pulls back and smiles lasciviously down at Hannibal, his elbows on the sides of Hannibal’s head, chests pressed together, Will practically straddling Hannibal. Hannibal pushes up to kiss Will again, but Dream-Will pulls back, pushing himself off of Hannibal and standing up.

“I think that’s the end of our session,” Dream-Will smirks.

Hannibal props himself up onto one elbow, crossing his legs at the ankles and staring up at Will.

“I think you can stay for a while,” Hannibal says, his voice wildly suggestive.

“I think not,” Dream-Will walks to the door and opens it.

Just as soon as Dream-Will gets the door open, it’s slammed shut in front of him and he’s pushed against it, and suddenly Will’s heart is racing.

“Stay a while,” Hannibal whispers.

Dream-Will nods slightly, and Hannibal leans down to kiss him.

Will wakes up with a gasp, vaguely aware of the smoke alarm going off.

“Shit,” Will curses, stumbling off the couch and fumbling through his storage closet for the fire extinguisher. He manages to get the fire extinguisher out of the closet without too much noise, but his dogs come running anyway.

“Shoo,” Will tells his dogs, waving his hand at them and nearly dropping the fire extinguisher in the process.

Will manages to put out the fire burning in his Mac’ n’ Cheese pot, so he sets the extinguisher on the floor and leans heavily on the kitchen counter, scrubbing a hand over his face to wake himself up. Snippets of his dream dance behind his eyes, making Will’s chest feel tight and his breathing become shorter.

Will thinks he probably needs to see a doctor.

The problem is, his doctor is long gone.

Will calls Hannibal again.

_Please leave a message._

“I miss you, you bastard,” Will sighs, staring out the kitchen window at nothing in particular. “I don’t even know what’s real and what’s not anymore, and I still miss you…”

Will’s imaginary Hannibal hasn’t talked in days, and he remains silent still.

Will’s dogs bark in the background, probably at a squirrel or something else. Will decides it’s not important right now.

“Where…where are you, Hannibal?” Will’s voice cracks, and he hates himself for it. “I-I need to talk to you, I need to know…”

Will ends the message before he can say anything else and leaves the kitchen, fighting the tears that prick at his eyes.

Will wonders why he’s so emotional lately. It’s not a good look.

Hannibal waits till he’s alone to play Will’s message; he knows Bedelia wouldn’t approve of his contact with Will Graham, and he already almost made the mistake of playing one of Will’s messages in front of her. After the last message Will left him, Hannibal decided not to mention Will to Bedelia at all.

_I miss you, you bastard._

Hannibal does a double take. This was not what he was expecting.

_I don’t even know what’s real and what’s not anymore, and I still miss you…_

Hannibal hears Will’s dogs bark in the background and smiles fondly, remembering how the dogs loved him, and how they love Will, and how Will loves them. The thought makes him smile fondly, makes him happy enough that the next part of the message is like a blow to the chest.

_Where… where are you, Hannibal?_

Will’s voice cracks, and so does Hannibal’s resolve—almost.

_I-I need to talk to you, I need to know…_

Hannibal swears under his breath and leaves the room.

Hannibal knows he can’t talk to Will, can’t have any contact with him, but _damn_ he wants to.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is the reason I put Will/Matthew Brown in the relationship tags, but it's only just a mention. I don't want to go any further with their relationship; at least not yet.   
> Also, yes, the line about Will being emotional and how it's not a good look is a direct reference to Stay With Me, a song by Sam Smith (which is a great song by the way).


	7. Chapter 7

Will doesn’t go to work anymore.

What’s the point? Jack is gone, his students probably think he’s crazy, and there have been relatively few murders lately.

Will went to class once since Jack died. His students cast him sidelong glances of pity, whispering when he turned his back. Will stopped going to work after that. 

A few of his students have attempted to call him since he went missing, but Will has declined their calls.

Will visits Alana every Tuesday, Thursday, and Saturday. She’s recovering nicely.

People used to come to Will’s house to check on him, a lot like how he checks on Alana.

No one visits Will anymore.

Which is why he’s surprised when, four weeks and two days after “the incident” as Will has come to refer to it to, there’s a knock on the door. Will rolls out of bed, shaking the last vestiges of sleep from his mind and wondering who could possibly be at his door at 6:30 on a Monday morning. Will walks unsteadily to the door and opens it to find Freddie Lounds, holding what looks like a case file. Freddie looks Will over—making Will feel a little self-conscious since he’s only wearing boxers and a t-shirt—before pushing her way inside. Freddie takes her jacket off, throwing it over a nearby chair, completely ignoring Will’s dogs as they come to greet her. Freddie goes to Will’s kitchen and sets the case file—Will was right, it is a case file—on the kitchen table, spreading out pictures, papers, and bits of evidence. Freddie steps back to admire her work and sighs, turning to face Will and smiling.

“We got a lead on Hannibal Lecter,” Freddie says, somewhat hesitantly.

Will feels faint. His sight blurs and his knees feel weak.

Luckily Freddie is fast; she grabs Will’s arm and loops it over her neck, leading him to the couch in the living room. Will sits on the couch, resting his elbows on his knees and breathing slowly in and out. Freddie sits down on the couch next to Will and looks at Will worriedly while he sits back, folding his hands and putting them behind his head.

“How are you?” Freddie asks. “For real, here. Be honest.”

Will cocks his head at the questions. No one’s asked him that for a long time.

“I’m okay,” He says.

Cue the awkward silence.

“I never thanked you,” Freddie starts. “For, you know, not killing me.”

Will’s lips turn up at the corners in a hint of a smile.

“I know how much you miss him,” Freddie says. Will shuts his eyes tightly and tries to keep his thoughts blank.

“I don’t…,” Will starts to protest, before sighing heavily. “How did you know?”

“I read people for a living, Will. I don’t know what makes you think I couldn’t read you,” Freddie smiles softly.

“I thought… I thought it wasn’t obvious,” Will half-laughs.

“It wasn’t. Not until towards the end,” Freddie states. “When you… got colder, less emotional, we all knew he had you.”

Will rubs his eyes, half hoping to wake up as if this was all a dream.

“Well, at least I did,” Freddie corrects herself.

Will feels like he can’t breathe.

“So this is my way of thanking you, I guess. I’m going to help you find him,” Freddie smiles.

Will lurches up and half-runs to the bathroom, barely making it before his stomach attempts to force itself up his throat.

“Jesus Christ,” Will moans, wiping the spit from around his mouth with a washcloth.

Will thinks that maybe he’s not as okay as he thought.

Will splashes cold water on his face before leaving the bathroom, muttering a “sorry” to Freddie. Freddie waves it off, leading Will into the kitchen to look at the case file laid out on the table.

“Here’s everything I managed to get on Hannibal. Flight tickets, license plate numbers, store purchases. I got some things on Bedelia Du Maurier, his old therapist, too, including a flight for two to Italy,” Freddie says, looking up at Will as if to make sure he’s not going to faint again.

Will blanches. Italy? Why would Hannibal be in Italy?

“That’s all I got, so far,” Freddie touches Will’s shoulder gently. “I’ll give you some time to look it over, okay? I’ll come back on Wednesday.”

Will nods uncertainly and stays at the kitchen table until he hears Freddie’s car drive away. Will lurches for his phone and dials Hannibal.

_Please leave a message._

“We’re going to find you, Hannibal,” Will says, sounding happier than he expected to.

Will’s imaginary Hannibal cocks his head and raises an eyebrow.

Will barely stops himself before he can say Freddie’s name; Freddie is basically the reason he got stabbed by Hannibal, when he thinks about it. 

“I’m coming, so be ready,” he says.

Will’s voice catches as his imaginary Hannibal smirks at him.

“Please-please don’t run away, Hannibal,” Will fights to keep his voice steady. “I just want to see you again…”

Will ends the message before he can say anything worse and goes outside, getting into his car.

Hannibal, sitting in his armchair thousands of miles away, doesn’t know what to expect when he plays Will’s message, so he steels himself for anything.

_We’re going to find you, Hannibal._

Will sounds happy. Hannibal doesn’t know whether to be glad or worried about that.

_I’m coming, so be ready._

Hannibal thinks briefly that he’s always been ready.

_Please-please don’t run away, Hannibal._

Hannibal knows that he won’t. He’ll never run away from Will again.

_I just want to see you again…_

Once the message is done, Hannibal goes outside, getting into his car. He doesn’t know where he’s going, he just knows he needs to get there fast.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is mostly smut, okay; it's a filler, I admit it. I need a filler to gather my thoughts. Basically, this is a flashback of Hannibal and Will's "first time" (it's not really their first, but Will (later) remembers it as their first. I'm not gonna explain why yet). It's set after Will just got out of jail, meaning it's pretty much angry sex yay. Whose flashback is it? That's for you to decide.

“Will,” Hannibal nods in a greeting as Will steps into his office.

“Doctor Lecter,” Will says coldly, throwing his jacket on his usual chair.

“What do you want to talk about, Will?” Hannibal asks, feigning innocence.

“I think you know what I want to talk about,” Will glares at Hannibal as Hannibal sits down in his chair, crossing his legs elegantly.

“You look angry,” Hannibal observes.

“I wonder why,” Will scoffs sarcastically.

“You still think I framed you,” Hannibal states.

“Look who’s catching on,” Will nearly shouts.

“Do you still want to kill me?” Hannibal asks, tilting his head in a way that makes Will want to throw something. Will’s jaw clenches and he balls his hands into fists.

“Yes,” he says, voice dangerously low. Hannibal stands up and moves closer to Will, crossing his hands behind his back.

“How would you kill me?”

“With my hands,” Will hisses.

“Do it, then.”

Will punches Hannibal squarely in the jaw, knocking him to the floor. Will stands still in disbelief at what he just did while Hannibal stands back up.

“Hit me again,” Hannibal says, rolling his shoulders. Will starts to shake his head.

“This is a good exercise for you,” Hannibal states, and something in his voice really sets Will off.

Will swings at Hannibal, landing a solid punch to the older man’s cheekbone. Hannibal grunts in surprise, as if he didn’t think Will would do it. Will leers at Hannibal and punches him in the elbow before kicking him solidly in the knee, bringing him down to one knee.

Will’s playing dirty, Hannibal thinks briefly.

Hannibal smirks up at Will, blood on his lip, before and jabbing a fist solidly into the back of Will’s knee. Will’s knee buckles, and Hannibal takes the moment it takes Will to regain his balance to stand back up and walk—limp—a few paces away. Will scowls at Hannibal and cracks his knuckles, wiping blood off of his knuckles with his shirt.

“See, it’s doing you a lot of good,” Hannibal goads Will. Will narrows his eyes at Hannibal and crosses the room in three strides to stand in front of Hannibal.

“You don’t seem to be fighting back,” Will states.

“I don’t need to,” Hannibal responds. “You won’t kill me.”

Will jams his elbow into Hannibal’s gut, making Hannibal fall to all fours on the ground gasping, one hand gripping his chest.

“How much do you want to bet?” Will says through his teeth.

Hannibal laughs painfully. Will stomps on Hannibal’s hand, making Hannibal groan. Will increases pressure, trying to get Hannibal to fight back. Hannibal jabs his other hand into Will’s thigh, but Will only laughs, keeping his foot pressed tightly on the other man’s hand.

“Is that all you got?” Will teases.

Hannibal smirks up at Will and flips around so that his feet are facing Will. He kicks Will in the knees, successfully freeing his hands and knocking Will flat on his rear end. Will scrambles up off the floor and lunges at Hannibal, knocking both of them to the ground, Will on top of Hannibal, straddling him. Will presses his elbows to Hannibal’s arms, pinning them to the ground. Hannibal looks up at Will, his expression unreadable, pupils blown wide with—is that arousal Will sees?

Will kisses Hannibal, hard and messy, lips and teeth and tongues everywhere, touching, grinding, biting. Will is painfully aware of his position on top of Hannibal and the way he’s sitting, but then Hannibal rolls his hips up into Will’s and Will forgets everything, mind going blank. Hannibal subtly moves his arms out from under Will’s and Will lets him, moving his arms so that they’re on either side of Hannibal’s head. Hannibal’s arms wrap around Will’s shoulders, and the next thing Will knows, he’s underneath Hannibal. Hannibal grinds their hips together and Will _fucking_ moans into Hannibal’s mouth. Hannibal uses one hand to guide Will’s legs to his waist; Will quickly gets the picture, wrapping both legs around Hannibal’s waist. Hannibal breaks their mouths apart and presses a kiss to Will’s neck, and Will gasps. Hannibal works Will’s shirt open and kisses down Will’s chest. Will thinks he should be doing something, but then Hannibal’s fingers ghost the waistband of his pants, and Will decides that thinking is overrated anyway. Hannibal seems to change his mind mid-make-out and grabs Will’s hips, picking him up off the floor almost effortlessly. Hannibal walks Will over to his desk and sets him down before kissing Will again, biting Will’s lower lip playfully. Will untucks Hannibal’s shirt before wrapping his arms around Hannibal’s shoulders, pulling him in closer than he already is. Hannibal’s arms sweep papers, books, and even a lamp off of his desk. Will laughs into the kiss and works off Hannibal’s suit jacket before quickly undoing Hannibal’s belt buckle, pulling his belt off. Hannibal breaks the kiss only tug off Will’s already unbuttoned shirt and make quick work of Will’s belt, as well. Will pulls Hannibal back to him by his tie, kissing him hard, before unbuttoning Hannibal’s shirt and pushing it off his shoulders. Will decides that he really wants to mess up Hannibal’s hair, so he tangles his hands into Hannibal’s hair, tugging slightly. Hannibal undoes Will’s pants quickly, making Will moan when his hands brush against Will’s erection. Hannibal lifts Will up, sliding his pants off his hips and pressing a kiss to Will’s collarbone at the same time, drawing an obscene sound from the younger man’s mouth. Hannibal pulls back to slip his pants off as well, while Will watches and laughs slightly. Will hops off of Hannibal’s desk and pulls Hannibal over to the chaise lounge in the room, dropping down onto it and pulling Hannibal on top of him. Hannibal pulls back slightly.

“Are you sure about this, Will?” Hannibal asks softly.

“I’ve never been more sure about anything in my life,” Will whispers.

Hannibal kisses Will again, a soft kiss, but Will makes it dirty, pushing his tongue into Hannibal’s mouth and rolling his hips against Hannibal’s.

 _Well, if he wants it rough, I can do rough…_ Hannibal thinks, and bites Will’s lip before pulling back.

Hannibal pulls off Will’s boxers and Will gasps, blushing slightly. Hannibal slides his boxers off as well and Will’s eyes widen slightly, making Hannibal chuckle. Hannibal kisses Will, then pulls back and places three fingers into Will’s mouth.

“Suck,” he tells Will. Will looks confused before obliging, blush deepening. His tongue works circles around and in between Hannibal’s fingers, leaving slick traces of spit on them, and _goddamn,_ Hannibal didn’t think a tongue sucking on his fingers would be this…erotic. Once Hannibal feels that his fingers are wet enough, he pulls them out of Will’s mouth and replaces them with his own mouth, kissing Will so hard that Will feels like he can’t breathe. Will is so caught up in the kiss that he barely notices Hannibal working one finger slowly inside of his entrance. It burns a little, Will thinks, but Will supposes that’s to be expected. Hannibal works his finger in and out slowly, staying on top of Will the whole time, before adding another finger. Will writhes on the chaise, hips jerking up for friction he can’t find, face red with a blush, mouth open in an ‘o’, and Hannibal thinks he’s never seen anything more beautiful in his life. Hannibal kisses Will, fists his left hand in Will’s hair, and moves the fingers of his right hand back and forth; making Will pant into their kiss. Hannibal adds a third finger and Will hisses, forcing himself to relax, but then Hannibal crooks his fingers and hits Will’s prostate, wiping away every thought in Will’s head. Will jerks his hips up and pants.

“I’m good, Hannibal, I-I ah!” Will whimpers. Hannibal smiles.

“What do you want me to do, Will?” Hannibal asks, and Will wants to kill him.

“I-ahh…want you to-mmm,” Will moans in between pants.

“What was that?”

Will looks Hannibal straight in the eyes.

“Fuck me,” Will gasps.

Hannibal obliges, smearing his pre-come down his length as makeshift lube and pushing inside Will; Will groans, head thrown back on the chaise, eyes squeezed closed, jaw clenched. Hannibal thinks briefly that Will’s moan is the most beautiful thing he’s ever heard. Hannibal forces himself, to stay, to let Will adjust. Will’s breath quickens and his hands grab for purchase on the chaise; Hannibal thinks maybe he’s gone too far, but then Will opens his eyes says, “Move, you bastard”. Hannibal leans down to kiss Will and pushes in and out, relishing Will’s groans with almost every thrust. Hannibal grasps Will’s erection in his left hand, and, holding himself up with his right arm, pumps Will’s length to the rhythm that he uses to move in and out of Will. After a few minutes, Will’s breathing becomes more like panting and his moans become louder; Hannibal shifts his hips so that he hits Will’s prostate with every thrust and feels Will tighten around him. Will lurches up and grabs Hannibal’s shoulders, his nails digging in hard and leaving red streaks down Hannibal’s back with every thrust Hannibal makes. Hannibal knows he’s close, but then Will actually _screams_ with his orgasm and falls limply back onto the chaise, and Hannibal gasps too, emptying himself inside of Will and nearly collapsing on top of him before rolling to the side, barely fitting beside Will on the chaise.

Will covers his face with his hands, body shaking, and Hannibal dimly realizes that he’s crying.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for all the kudos and comments and hits!! I love you all!!


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Flashback over, this chapter is set in the present.

Will doesn’t sleep after Freddie leaves him with the evidence.

Instead he pours himself into finding Hannibal; he puts together evidence and tries to find even more. He even rehearses what he’ll say when he finally sees Hannibal again. 

Will knows that he shouldn’t get his hopes up, but he does anyway. 

By the time Freddie shows up on his doorstep on Wednesday, Will has a reasonably good idea of where in Italy Hannibal is. 

Will excitedly tells Freddie everything that he’s put together over the past few days, getting so excited that he completely misses the way Freddie looks at him.

The more Freddie listens to Will, the more she’s convinced of two things.

One: Will Graham is completely and irrevocably in love with Hannibal Lecter.

Two: Will is only going to get hurt by this…obsession? Passion?

When Will tells Freddie that he thinks Hannibal is in Lecce, Italy, Freddie gets up and walks outside. Freddie closes her eyes and breathes deeply. She thinks of what Jack would do if he were here. She decides to call Alana.

“Hello, this is Ivona Fairfax Hospital, who am I speaking to?” A female voice answers.

“Uh, Freddie Lounds. May I speak to Alana Bloom?”

“Just a moment, Miss Lounds,” the woman says, and there’s a click as she transfers the call. Freddie bites her lip, wondering exactly what to say.

“Hello?” Alana’s hesitant voice asks.

“Alana. It’s Freddie,” Freddie says gently.

“What do you want, Freddie?” Alana demands, but there’s no venom behind her words. 

Freddie takes a deep breath.

“It’s Will,” Freddie responds. “He-he’s going to find Hannibal.”

“What do you mean?”

“He knows where Hannibal is and he wants to go there,” Freddie explains, thinking briefly that she sounds desperate.

“Freddie, you can’t let him go! He nearly got killed last time!”

Freddie looks back at the house to make sure Will’s still inside.

“I can’t Alana I-he… he loves him…”

“What do you mean, he loves him?!”

“Will loves Hannibal, Alana, I can see it all over his face! It’s in the way he talks, the way he behaves, hell, I can see it in the way he _walks_!”

Alana is silent for a long moment, and Freddie thinks maybe she did the wrong thing.

“Have him come see me,” Alana says, and hangs up.

Freddie mentally prepares herself for anything Will might say as she walks back inside.

Will is sitting alone at the kitchen table, elbows on the table, hands folded and pressed against his lips.

“Will,” Freddie says gently. 

“Freddie, I-I have to see him, I can’t do this anymore, this half reality thing. I see him when I close my eyes, I dream about him,” Will’s voice cracks and tears brim his eyes. 

“Will, I wasn’t going to tell you not to go,” Freddie says, sitting down next to Will. “In fact, I want you to go. This is killing you, and it’s killing everyone who cares about you to see you like this.”

Will’s tears spill over and he sobs.

“Go see Alana,” Freddie murmurs, turning Will to look at her and placing her hands on the sides of his face. Will wraps his arms around Freddie’s chest and grips the back of her shoulders tightly, pressing his head into Freddie’s shoulder. Freddie hugs Will back wordlessly, staring over Will’s shoulder at the clock on the wall. The clock is stopped at 9:34, and Freddie gets the urge to fix it. Instead she just hugs Will tighter, knowing that she will never be able to fix him and feeling guilty for playing a part in making him this way.

After Will’s crying stops, he asks Freddie to drive him to the hospital to talk to Alana. Freddie agrees; how could she not? The car ride there is silent, with Will staring out the window blankly and Freddie glancing over at him occasionally. Once they get to the hospital, Will immediately goes into the hospital, while Freddie stays in the car to regain her composure; she never thought she’d see Will Graham break down.

“Alana,” Will says in a greeting as he steps into Alana’s hospital room.

“Will,” Alana says, smiling halfheartedly.

“I-,” Will starts.

“Will, I know,” Alana gestures for Will to sit on the hospital bed beside her. 

“You-you do?” Will blanches. 

Alana nods.

“I just want you to be careful, okay? And don’t… don’t go alone…,” Alana chokes up, tears wetting her eyes. “I don’t want to say this, but don’t get your hopes up, okay?” 

“I know,” Will says, hugging Alana tightly to hide his own tears. 

Freddie, standing outside the doorway, knows that Will already has his hopes up too high.

Will booked a flight for Lecce last night with Freddie’s help, on the condition that she would go with him, staying a town over from where Will’s staying just in case of emergency. The two are on different flights as well; Will doesn’t want a repeat of what happened that night at Hannibal’s. It doesn’t matter to Freddie; she’s always wanted to go to Italy, and helping Will out on the way is just a small task. Will’s flight leaves three hours after Freddie’s; Freddie wanted to be there first, because she’s desperate to get away from America after all that’s happened.

Alana cries when Will leaves, knowing that she’s probably lost him forever.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for reading, you literally have no idea how much this means to me!! I love you all!!


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another smutty chapter yay!! Or nay if you're not into that stuff, sorry :/
> 
> Also there may or may not be a chapter tomorrow; I'm going to be reeeaaaalllly busy cuz I'm doing a play for school and then I have homecoming. But I'll try my best to have one up!!

Will falls asleep within an hour of leaving the US, even though he doesn’t want to. Will makes a mental note to thank Freddie for getting him a private cabin; the woman has connections everywhere. As soon as Will falls asleep, he dreams.

Dream-Will gasps, his arms sore. He shifts his hands and rolls his shoulders to try and make his position more comfortable. There’s a blindfold over his eyes, but from what he can tell, he’s in Hannibal’s office, naked except for his pants, and tied to the ladder. Will hears the door open and footsteps walk towards him. Dream-Will’s heart speeds up as the footsteps get closer, walking around the ladder, but once he feels soft lips on his, he relaxes, knowing all is well.

“Hello, Will,” Hannibal whispers. Hannibal’s fingers trace random patterns down Dream-Will’s torso and he shivers at the touch.

“Hannibal,” Dream-Will murmurs, tilting his head upwards, practically begging for another kiss. Hannibal smirks (even though Will can’t see him) and grabs Will’s hair, yanking the younger man’s head up. Dream-Will hisses in pain, but keeps quiet.

“Have you learned your lesson, Will?” Hannibal sneers, and Will rapidly shakes his head yes as much as he can with his hair being pulled. Hannibal glances at Dream-Will’s throat, his Adam’s apple bobbing nervously, and lets go of Will’s hair. Dream-Will sighs as Hannibal walks around the ladder and unties his hands from it, quickly retying them to behind Dream-Will’s back. Hannibal leads Dream-Will over to his desk, picking him up and sitting him on top of it before taking off his own suit jacket. Dream-Will laughs nervously as Hannibal takes off his shoes, throwing them across the room with a thump.

“I told you that behaving the way you did was not okay,” Hannibal hums. Dream-Will bites his lower lip and crosses his ankles together. Hannibal pushes Dream-Will’s legs apart, stepping between them and leaning in close to Dream-Will’s ear. “And you did it anyway.”

Hannibal starts undoing Dream-Will’s pants as he speaks.

“What’s to be done about that, hm?” he inquires. Dream-Will remains silent as Hannibal slips his pants down and off his legs. “No suggestions?”

Dream-Will doesn’t respond.

“Alright then,” Hannibal smirks, flipping Dream-Will over so that his chest is pressed against the desk surface. Hannibal slicks his fingers with lube seemingly produced out of nowhere and slips two fingers inside of Dream-Will, working them in and out carefully.

“N-no, please,” Dream-Will gasps. “You know I don’t like-ahh…”

“Sex without physical contact is something you hate most, and seeing as you did something I hated most, it’s only fitting that I do the same to you,” Hannibal says, making Dream-Will whimper, tears brimming his eyes, wetting the blindfold that Hannibal hasn't removed-maybe he forgot to, Will thinks. Hannibal slides another finger inside of Dream-Will, reveling at the sound of Will trying to hold in his cries. Hannibal bends his fingers, hitting Dream-Will’s prostate with such accuracy that Dream-Will yells out a string of curse words before dissolving into gentle moans. Hannibal removes his fingers and Dream-Will sighs in relief, shifting his tied arms to a more comfortable position. Hannibal puts his hands on Dream-Will’s shoulders and pushes himself inside Dream-Will without warning, making him buck slightly off the desk. Hannibal doesn’t allow Dream-Will time to relax, instead thrusting in and out hard, feeling Dream-Will’s shoulders wrack with sobs underneath his hands. Hannibal shifts so that he hits Dream-Will’s prostate with every thrust, making Will’s sobs become louder and his breath come in short bursts. Dream-Will orgasms without Hannibal ever touching him, going limp against the desk just as Hannibal hits his orgasm. Hannibal quickly stands up, sliding on his clothes and turning to face Dream-Will, who has slid off the desk and onto the floor, tears streaming down his face from under the blindfold. Hannibal walks over to Dream-Will and carefully unties his wrists, not missing the way Dream-Will flinches away from him. Once Dream-Will's hands are untied, Hannibal gets up and leaves the room, pausing only to glance at Dream-Will in pity and whisper, “I’m sorry, Will,” before leaving. Dream-Will stays on the ground long after Hannibal leaves, covering his face with his hands and crying, not even bothering to take off the blindfold.

Will wakes up with a start, lurching up and to the bathroom. Will leans over the toilet, feeling like throwing up, but not able to. He fishes his phone out of his pocket and calls Hannibal for the first time in over a week.

_Please leave a message._

“Hannibal,” Will says quietly. “I-I’m sorry…for whatever I did that one time when I-” Will’s voice catches. “I did ‘what you hated most’…”

Will’s imaginary Hannibal cocks an eyebrow at him.

“Un-unless that was…just a dream…I can’t tell what I dream apart from what’s real anymore…” Will trails off. “Um, I-I want you to know that I’m close. To finding you, I mean.”

Imaginary Hannibal seems to taunt him, his look saying _not if I run away again._

“Please don’t run, Hannibal.”

Will hangs up.

After the last message Will left for him, Hannibal is very hesitant to open this one. The table he’s sitting at is relatively private, though, so he closes his eyes and presses play, setting his elbows on the table, folding his hands and bringing them up to his lips.

_Hannibal, I-I’m sorry…for whatever I did that one time when I-_

Hannibal hears the catch in Will’s voice and opens his eyes.

_I did ‘what you hated most’…_

He’s remembering, Hannibal thinks, unsure how to feel about that.

_Un-Unless that was…just a dream…I can’t tell what I dream apart from what’s real anymore…_

Will’s voice trails off and Hannibal gets up, thinking that’s the end of the message.

_Um, I-I want you to know that I’m close. To finding you, I mean._

Hannibal stops in his tracks and turns to look at his phone.

“How close?” Hannibal finds himself asking before he can think better of it.

_Please don’t run, Hannibal._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for the hits and kudos and comments!! Love you all!!


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for not posting yesterday, hope this chapter makes up for it ^_~

Will’s plane lands later than expected, but he calls Alana as soon as he lands (as promised), hanging up before she can start crying into the phone. He walks aimlessly around the airport for a good half an hour, hair still messed up from his wild sleeping on the plane, before deciding to go to his hotel.

Will checks into the hotel, goes to his hotel room, and sets his bag on the bed. He turns around in the room, taking in everything about the room; the view, the decorations, the lamps, the lack of Hannibal… Will feels dizzy and sits down on the bed. Will realizes that he doesn’t know what to do. How is he supposed to find Hannibal? The town is small, but what is he going to do; go door to door asking for Hannibal? Will’s head hurts, so he grabs his bottle of Aspirin out of his bag and swallow three pills. Will lays back onto the bed, unbuttoning his shirt and tugging it off. Will decides to try and get some sleep, even though he knows he’ll only dream of Hannibal. Will falls asleep so fast that he feels like he’s falling.

“Will,” Hannibal says calmly. “Put the gun down.”

“No, Hannibal,” Dream-Will’s voice shakes slightly. “You _used_ me.”

Hannibal eyes the gun in Dream-Will’s hand warily and waits for him to continue talking.

“How many of _your_ crime scenes have I seen? How many nights have I spilled my guts to you, not knowing you were a… a monster?!”

Hannibal’s eyes narrow slightly, for just a second, but Dream-Will completely misses it.

“You played with my emotions, Hannibal. You made me feel… things for you, and for what?”

Hannibal opens his mouth to speak, but Dream-Will cuts him off.

“I don’t want to hear you spout some shit about how you love me, because if you do, I’m going to crawl back to you just like I do _every time_!” Dream-Will starts crying, fighting not to break completely down.

“You kept so much from me, Hannibal. Hell, you _took_ so much from me!”

Hannibal raises an eyebrow.

“It’s easier that way, though, isn’t it Will?” Hannibal asks, and Will doesn’t have the resolve to cut him off. “You could feel, as you say, ‘things’ for me with a clean conscience.”

Dream-Will’s eyes widen and his fingers tighten on the handle of the gun, clutching it so tight that his knuckles go white.

“Will,” Hannibal says, his voice soothing. “We both know you won’t shoot me. Put the gun down.”

Dream-Will clenches his jaw and squeezes his eyes shut, trying to shut out Hannibal’s words without taking the gun off of Hannibal.

“Will…,” Hannibal says again, trying hard to keep all emotions out of his voice.

Dream-Will opens his eyes and stares straight at Hannibal, hurt plain in his eyes.

“Why…why do I still love you?!” Dream-Will nearly shouts, tears streaming down his face.

Hannibal crosses the room in two strides, completely ignoring the gun in Dream-Will’s hand. Hannibal wraps Dream-Will in a hug, hearing the gun clatter to the floor as the younger man sobs against his shoulder. Dream-Will wraps his arms around Hannibal, hands grabbing Hannibal’s suit jacket and hanging on tightly. Hannibal absentmindedly traces circles on Dream-Will’s back, feeling him relax gradually.

“Hannibal,” Dream-Will says, voice slightly muffled.

“Hm,” Hannibal hums.

“Kiss me,” Dream-Will murmurs, tilting his head up at Hannibal expectantly.

Hannibal kisses Dream-Will softly, but Dream-Will deepens the kiss, kissing like Hannibal is air and Dream-Will is suffocating. Hannibal smiles into the kiss and feels Dream-Will smile back. Hannibal takes off his suit jacket without breaking the kiss and backs Dream-Will against the chaise lounge, laughing slightly when Will’s knees buckle as he falls onto the chaise. Dream-Will blushes slightly, looking away from Hannibal and laughing nervously. Hannibal crawls on top of Dream-Will, sitting so that he’s straddling Will, and turns Dream-Will’s face towards his. Dream-Will’s eyes are blown wide with lust, his cheeks still red from blushing, and Hannibal thinks briefly that Will is the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen, but then Dream-Will rolls his hips into Hannibal’s and Hannibal’s mind goes blank. Dream-Will pulls Hannibal down by his tie and kisses him again, before rapidly tugging Hannibal’s tie off and undoing the buttons on his shirt. 

Hannibal briefly wonders what happened to the innocent Will he used to know, but then Will’s mouth withdraws from his and presses to his collarbone, sucking and biting and licking a hickey into existence, and Hannibal thinks maybe he doesn’t miss innocent Will all that much. 

Hannibal moves so that he’s sitting between Will’s legs instead of on them, and Will moans quietly at the lack of warmth. Dream-Will’s brain kicks into overdrive as Hannibal literally rips his shirt open, a couple buttons scattering everywhere. Dream-Will stares up at Hannibal in disbelief—sex for them has always been (relatively) gentle (most of the time)—Hannibal just smirks down at him before quickly undoing Will’s belt buckle and sliding his belt off, throwing it god knows where. Hannibal tugs Dream-Will’s pants off and palms Will through his boxers, making Dream-Will buck up and moan Hannibal’s name. Hannibal slides his already unbuttoned shirt off of his shoulders and takes off his own belt, leaning down to press a kiss to Dream-Will’s erection through his boxers, making him pant and roll his hips upwards, trying to get some friction, any friction.

Hannibal stands up to pull his pants and boxers off and grab some lube from his desk drawer, Will watching him with a slight smile on his face, before resuming his position between Will’s legs. Dream-Will watches as Hannibal slicks three of his fingers with lube before pushing two of them inside of Will. Dream-Will's hair is stuck to his forehead with sweat, making him look all the more...undone, Hannibal thinks. 

Hannibal looks up at Will as he carefully stretches Will out. Will avoids Hannibal's eyes, maybe deliberately, maybe not, closing his eyes tightly. 

"Look at me," Hannibal says, and Will slowly opens his eyes and meets Hannibal's, biting his lower lip and trying not to buck his hips as Hannibal slips a third finger inside of him. Hannibal pulls his fingers out, and Dream-Will's eyes fall half-closed, but then Hannibal pushes himself into Will and Will's mouth opens in a silent 'o' and his eyes squeeze closed, fingers gripping Hannibal's skin anywhere he can find purchase. Hannibal kisses Will softly, not moving, giving Will time to adjust, until Dream-Will nods; then Hannibal thrusts into Will while kissing Will hard, tongues, lips, and teeth everywhere. Hannibal shifts so that he can grab Will’s length with one hand and pumps slowly, matching the rhythm he uses to thrust in and out of Will. Dream-Will's breaths come shorter, seeming to catch in his throat, and he moans with almost every thrust Hannibal makes. 

Dream-Will wraps his arms under Hannibal’s, his nails digging into Hannibal’s shoulders as he orgasms, panting and moaning Hannibal’s name over and over again. Hannibal reaches his climax not long after, moaning Will’s name. Hannibal collapses onto the couch beside Will, and Dream-Will shifts so that his head is resting on Hannibal’s chest. Hannibal puts one arm around Will, pulling him closer, until they both fall asleep.

Miles apart, Hannibal and Will both wake up in a cold sweat, sitting up fast, gasping each other’s names.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for all the hits, kudos, and comments!! Love you all!!


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's why I have Rape/Non-Con in the tags.

Hannibal nervously checks all flights to Lecce the next day.

He’s scared he’ll find Will’s name on the flight log; he’s also scared he won’t.

Scanning through the flight logs, he realizes that Will could’ve used a fake name, and sits back, pressing his thumb and forefinger to the bridge of his nose.

Hannibal thinks that he might be going crazy over Will Graham.

Freddie calls Will the next morning to tell Will she arrived safely. She actually got in last night, but she hadn’t wanted to call Will so late at night.

“Will?” Freddie asks into the phone as soon as Will picks up.

“Freddie,” Will says, voice rough from sleep, or maybe screaming; Freddie can’t tell and she doesn’t want to ask.

“I just wanted to let you know that I got in safely,” Freddie says.

“Okay,” Will responds, and hangs up.

Freddie looks at the phone in vague confusion and worry, wondering whether to call Will back or not. She decides not to.

Will runs his hands through his hair and rests his elbows on the table he’s sitting on. He debates calling Freddie back and apologizing for being rude, but he decides not to.

After Will’s dream last night, he didn’t sleep. He stayed up, staring at the ceiling and trying not to cry, torn between calling Hannibal and begging for help and calling Freddie for help with finding Hannibal. Will’s throat feels raw from sobbing into his pillow after deciding to neither call Hannibal nor Freddie, preferring instead to cry by himself.

But now it’s 3:00 pm, and Will hasn’t left the hotel since he got to it. Some part of Will tells him that he should go outside and explore the city, but what’s the point? He should focus on finding Hannibal.

Will stands up quickly from the table, grabbing his coat and phone before he can think twice, marching out the door. Will focuses on breathing as he makes his way down to the hotel lobby and outside, pulling into himself as the cold morning air hits him. Mid-November is chilly in Italy, Will thinks to himself. Will walks aimlessly for about an hour, eventually finding himself at a park. A few people walk around the park briskly, some with their dogs, some with whiny children at their heels. A young couple stands under a tree, hands clasped, watching the ducks swim on the pond in the middle of the park. Will’s chest feels tight and he turns away, walking the other way around the park, deciding to see where it will take him.

After maybe an hour of walking, not really paying attention where he’s going, Will finds himself in front of a pub. Will can’t read the Italian name, but sees the word “bar”.

 _What the hell,_ Will thinks, and walks into the bar, taking a seat at the counter. Will signals for a plain old beer, and the bartender comes back with a fancy brand of Italian beer with no label that tastes a little bit like apples. Will downs the first beer faster than he probably should have and asks for another. When the bartender sets it in front of Will, Will stares at it, thinking he probably shouldn’t drink it, before downing the whole thing in almost one gulp, setting the bottle back on the counter with a grimace. Will’s eyes are starting to get blurry and his speech is slurred as he asks for another beer. The bartender shakes his head no, setting a glass of water on the counter instead. Will squints angrily at the bartender and gets up, legs wobbling slightly.

“Hey, man, you need some help?” A gruff voice from Will’s right says. Will nods shakily, and the man (presumably) slings Will’s arm over his neck, leading Will outside. The man leads Will down a street he’s never seen before, Will walking unstably beside the man. The man leads Will into an alley, and Will fuzzily realizes that he may have made a mistake. Will starts to push against the man, but the Italian beer seems to have made him drunker than normal.

The man shoves Will face-first into the concrete wall, making Will hiss in pain as his cheek hits the wall. The man roughly ties Will’s hands together, with a zip tie, or maybe rope, Will doesn’t know, can’t think straight. The man undoes Will’s belt, tugging his pants down, making Will shiver at the sudden cold. Despite Will’s weak protests of “no, please” and “stop”, the man pushes Will to the floor of the alley. Will hears the man undo his zipper and tears prick his eyes. How could he be so stupid?

The man shoves himself inside of Will without warning or anything, only a thin layer of pre-come as a lubricant, and Will screams, feeling like he’s ripping in half. To Will’s horror, the man laughs.

“Scream as loud as you want, Princess, no one can here you out here,” the man says, and Will swears he can hear the smirk in the man’s voice.

The man thrusts in and out of Will hard, drawing choked cries from Will with almost every thrust. Will bites down on his lip so hard it bleeds, blood mixing with his tears and falling onto the pavement.

The man finishes after what seems like forever to Will, cuts the tie around Will’s hands, and leaves. Will curls himself up into a ball and sobs, covering himself with his jacket. Will loses track of time, crying until he can’t anymore, and calls the only person he knows he can trust.

_Please leave a message._

“Hannibal-,” Will sniffles, voice rough from screaming and sobbing, but still trying not to sound weak. “I-I don’t know where I am…”

Hannibal rolls to the side of his bed so that he can grab his phone. Caller ID says it’s Will, and Hannibal waits for it to go to message, rubbing sleep from his eyes with a yawn.

_Hannibal-_

Will’s voice sounds scratchy, like he’s been crying, or screaming, or both, Hannibal thinks.

_I-I don’t know where I am…_

Hannibal is suddenly awake, lurching out of bed and tugging on pants and a jacket, grabbing his keys and rushing out the door before he can think twice.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry if that hurt you guys; it hurt me writing it haha. My poor baby...


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for all the kudos, comments and hits!! I love you all!! My kik is anni.__ if you have any pointers of suggestions or anything!!

Hannibal tries not to think about what will happen when he sees Will again.

Hannibal found Will’s hotel with some difficulty and traced the path he thought Will would most likely take. Asking around at the park he finds a distance from Will’s hotel, Hannibal finds that Will went to “the slums”, as one couple puts it. The woman of the couple tells Hannibal that she hopes he finds his friend soon, while her boyfriend adds a quiet “if he’s not dead yet” under his breath. Hannibal’s chest feels tight as the couple walks away and Hannibal starts jogging, not stopping until he comes to a sign labeled _La Bonne Barre de Temps_ , meaning _The Good Time Bar_. Hannibal doubts Will knows much French, but he knows that Will could easily pick out the word “bar” in the sign. It’s been over an hour of looking for Will, and Hannibal has no better options, so he pushes his way inside.

“Excuse me,” Hannibal says to the bartender. “Was there a man in here earlier, uh, brown hair, a little scruffy, about this tall?”

The bartender shrugs, and a man walks up to the bar and slams his glass onto it. The bartender patiently fills the man’s glass as the man turns to face Hannibal.

“Who’re you lookin’ for?” The man asks, French-accented voice slurred from alcohol.

“A friend,” Hannibal retorts, not really wanting to deal with this man right now.

“What’s he- _hic-_ what’s he look like?” The man asks, grabbing his glass from the counter and downing almost the whole thing in one go.

“He has brown hair, he’s a little bit scruffy…,” Hannibal describes in a monotone. “He’s about this tall-,” holding his hand up to show how tall. “He’s not French.”

“Oooooohhhh,” The man says, throwing his head back and laughing, a laugh that makes Hannibal uneasy. “Oh, I seen him. Squealed like a pig, he did.”

The man wipes tears of laughter from around his eyes, and in an instant, Hannibal’s hand is on his throat.

“What have you done to him?” Hannibal asks, voice dangerously low.

“Gentlemen, please, take this outside!” The bartender’s shrill voice cuts through Hannibal’s thoughts.

“Let’s take this outside, shall we?” Hannibal asks the man, withdrawing his hand from the man’s throat so that he can reply.

“With pleasure,” The man spits, turning to stalk out the door. Hannibal follows him, rolling his shoulders and cracking his knuckles expectantly.

Once outside, the man turns to face Hannibal, squaring up for a fight; Hannibal simply smirks and kicks out at the man’s knee, sending him to the ground. Hannibal grabs the man’s arm and pulls him up, twisting his arm behind his back painfully and pushing him up against a nearby wall. The man grunts in surprise, trying to shift out of Hannibal’s grip, but Hannibal holds him strongly, and eventually the man stops fighting.

“Let’s try this again,” Hannibal asks with a predatory smile that the man can almost hear in Hannibal’s voice. “Where. Is. My. Friend?”

The man laughs harshly, making Hannibal want to break his arm.

“More than a friend, I think,” The man sneers.

Hannibal pushes the man’s arm higher on his back, threatening to break his shoulder. The man hisses in pain and grits his teeth.

“One street down, three alleys in, that’s where I left him,” The man jeers, and Hannibal immediately releases him (though he’d rather kill him) and jogs away in search of Will.

After ten minutes of frantic searching (and one unplanned detour; he got lost) he finds the alley where the man said he left Will.

Hannibal walks into the alley, looking behind dumpsters and moving mattresses and trash bags, making his way to the end of the alley. Hannibal is about to give up when he sees a coat that looks like Will’s in the corner of the alley. Hannibal practically runs to the coat; when he gets closer he can tell that it’s definitely a person, and Hannibal’s stomach drops.

Tear-swollen eyes look up at Hannibal, and Hannibal’s knees buckle, putting him face to face with Will Graham.

“Oh, Will,” Hannibal whispers, reaching out a shaky hand to touch Will’s face. Will flinches away from Hannibal, and suddenly Hannibal feels like he can’t breathe.

“Jesus, Will,” Hannibal’s voice sounds choked. Hannibal looks closer at Will, Will’s eyes staring blankly back at Hannibal.

“You’re not here,” Hannibal realizes, still talking to Will, even if he’s not entirely there. “You couldn’t cope, you withdrew from the situation…” Hannibal’s voice cracks and _no no no, he can’t fall apart, Will needs him_.

Hannibal realizes numbly that Will’s only wearing a shirt, his jacket covering his bare legs haphazardly in a way that makes Hannibal feel sick. Will’s wrists are bruised, and his cheek is bleeding slightly. Hannibal concludes that all signs point to rape, remembering what the man at the bar said: “squealed like a pig, he did”, and a wave of nausea rolls over him at the thought of someone else touching Will in such a violent way; he turns to the side and covers his mouth, trying not to puke, or cry, or maybe both.

Hannibal shakes his head in an attempt to clear his thoughts, looking around for Will’s pants, gently tugging them back onto Will once he finds them. Hannibal lightly picks up Will, feeling Will subconsciously loop his arms around Hannibal’s neck.

_Will’s gotten thin_ , Hannibal notes as he walks, trying to find a cab.

_That’s probably my fault_ , Hannibal recognizes briefly.

Will’s breath against Hannibal’s neck gets shorter and more gasp-like, and Hannibal stops walking, focusing completely on Will.

“No,” Will murmurs, eyes still glassy and unfocused, half-closed. “Please, no, don’t, please-ah!”

_He’s reliving it,_ Hannibal realizes.

Hannibal’s heart breaks for Will as he starts walking again, trying but failing to ignore Will’s small protests.

After half an hour of walking, Hannibal finally flags a cab, bundling Will into the backseat carefully and climbing in after him. Hannibal tells the driver his address and tells the driver to steps on it, mentioning to the driver that there might be more of a tip for him if he hurries. Hannibal gazes fondly at Will, moving Will’s head so that it rests on Hannibal’s thigh.

_Why did I ever want to leave him?_ Hannibal wonders, hesitantly running his fingers through Will’s hair, watching Will fall into an actual, natural, sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There may or may not be updates this weekend!! The school is taking our laptops to install some software on them, and sadly, I have been writing this on my school laptop as my home computer is not great. I'll try my very hardest to get chapters up but if I don't, I'm sorry!!


	14. Chapter 14

Will wakes up with no idea where he is.

He’s on a bed, he knows that much; he tries to sit up, but immediately flops back onto the mattress.

Everything hurts.

Will winces as memories of last night flit past his eyes, and a vague memory of someone carrying him somewhere.

Will rubs his eyes, trying to remember, or maybe trying to forget; he doesn’t know.

There’s a glass of water on the bed stand, but Will can’t move his arms enough to reach it.

There’s a knock on the door and Will tries to sit up before settling on propping himself up on his elbows.

“Oh, good, you’re awake,” A familiar Danish-accented voice says, and Will nearly falls out of the bed in his haste to stand up. In an instant, Hannibal is at his side, supporting him.

“Oh my god, it’s you, it’s actually you,” Will hears himself saying, hearing Hannibal chuckle lightly. Will wraps his arms around Hannibal’s neck, pulling him into a hug and trying to ignore the pain in his shoulders from doing so, trying not to wince as Hannibal hugs him back. Will feels tears pricking his eyes and grabs the shoulders of Hannibal’s shirt, squeezing Hannibal tightly; at the same time, Hannibal tries not to hug Will too hard.

Will pulls back to stare at Hannibal, smiling so big that he things his face might split in half. Hannibal gazes back at Will fondly, and Will completely misses the hint of sadness in his eyes.

Will leans forward and kisses Hannibal, a soft, chaste kiss that Hannibal almost backs away from. Will pulls back, and the two men stare at each other, both silently observing the other. Hannibal smiles at Will, and Will wonders if this is just a dream.

“Why now?” Will asks. “I mean-why did you come find me?”

“I don’t know,” Hannibal states. “I just… heard your voice and I knew something was wrong and I just…went.”

“Thank you,” Will murmurs.

“You’re welcome,” Hannibal replies.

Will honestly hadn’t expected things to be this awkward.

“Are you okay?” Hannibal asks hesitantly. “What did he do to you?”

Will closes his eyes and Hannibal worries that he’s made a mistake.

“I’m okay now that I’m with you,” Will says simply, eyes still closed, head angled towards the ground.

Hannibal’s chest feels tight.

“I-I’m sorry, Will,” Hannibal nearly whispers. Will opens his looks up at Hannibal, hurt plain in his eyes. “I’m sorry…I’m sorry I hurt you…”

Hannibal tries to keep the tears out of his eyes, but he can see tears in Will’s eyes and he can’t do it. Suddenly Will is in his arms and he’s trying not to cry on Will’s shoulder.

Will tries so hard not to wince from pain as Hannibal hugs him tight. Will can hear Hannibal trying not to cry and he knows that there’s nothing he can do about it but _oh my god, it’s finally him, he’s finally here_ , and suddenly Will is trying very hard not to cry on Hannibal.

“Will…,” Hannibal whispers, pulling away slightly. “Can… can I see it?”

Will is confused for a second before Hannibal’s eyes flit to his stomach, and Will realizes what Hannibal wants, suddenly feeling self-conscious.

_You’ve (probably) had sex with this man,_ Will reminds himself, pulling his shirt up with a slight blush and avoiding Hannibal’s eyes.

Hannibal stares at the scar on Will’s stomach and feels slightly sick.

_I put that there,_ Hannibal reminds himself with a slight grimace.

Hannibal notices the bruises dancing along Will’s waistline and parts of his chest, but decides not to say anything.

Will closes his eyes as Hannibal moves closer, his breath hitching faintly as Hannibal’s fingers ghost across the scar on his stomach. Hannibal notices Will’s breath catch and pulls back quickly, almost as if he’s afraid to hurt Will again.

Will feels Hannibal draw away and opens his eyes, pulling his shirt back down and glancing up at Hannibal shyly. Hannibal stands with his thumb and forefinger pinched to the bridge of his nose, and for some reason, Will can’t stand him doing that.

Will moves over to Hannibal before he knows what he’s doing and pulls Hannibal’s hand from his face, clasping Hannibal’s hand in his own, lacing their fingers together and pulling their hands up so that their hands are clasped together between their chins.

“Hey,” Will whispers. “It’s okay.”

Hannibal just stares at their hands, locked together between them and leans down, pressing his forehead to Will’s, and sighs.

Will freezes at first, silently reminding himself to breathe. Then he pushes up to kiss Hannibal, surprising himself, but Hannibal kisses back softly, as if Will is a porcelain doll that might break at any second. Will smiles into the kiss and Hannibal runs his tongue over Will’s lips before smiling back and pulling away to rest their foreheads together again.

Will half expects to wake up in his own bed at any second.

Hannibal is _here._ With him. Not thousands of miles away; here, right in front of Will. Will feels so happy he could cry.  

Hannibal stares at Will, hardly believing that he’s _here._ With him. Not thousands of miles away; here, right in front of Hannibal. Hannibal feels…content.

“Can I… can I take a shower?” Will asks. “I feel-I feel dirty.”

Hannibal feels a spark of anger at the man who did this to Will, but he hides it, nodding to Will. Hannibal leads Will to the shower and gets Will a towel. He’s about to leave the bathroom when Will clears his throat awkwardly.

“I, um,” Will trips over his words. “I’m not sure I can, um, undress myself…”

Will’s cheeks burn with a blush that might have made Hannibal laugh under other circumstances, but now it just breaks his heart. Hannibal walks over to Will and carefully unbuttons his shirt, noticing the way Will completely avoids his eyes. Hannibal pushes Will’s shirt gently off his shoulders and pulls the cuffs over his wrists, wincing at the marks on Will’s wrist from where the man tied his hands together. Hannibal undoes Will’s pants easily and slides them off, leaving Will’s boxers on. The bruises on Will’s legs are bad enough to make Hannibal want to _kill_ the man who did this to Will.

Will dimly realizes that the boxers aren’t actually his; Hannibal must have re-dressed him while he slept. The thought alone makes Will blush furiously. Hannibal notices Will’s blush and smiles slightly, standing up and looking at Will; Will still avoids Hannibal’s eyes.

“Can you-,” Will starts, gesturing at the boxers. “I don’t want to see…”

Hannibal nods, expression unreadable, and slips Will’s boxers off his legs. Will coughs awkwardly as Hannibal turns the shower on, turning it to a temperature that won’t burn or freeze Will. Hannibal turns to leave, but Will reaches out and touches his shoulder.

“Stay,” Will mumbles, meeting Hannibal’s eyes. “I don’t want to be alone.”

Hannibal nods, sitting down on the closed toilet seat to show that he’s not going anywhere. Not this time.

Never again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow guys. Thanks for so many comments and kudos and hits; I never expected to get this much. Love you all!!


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> New chapter, yay! Again, sorry for not posting all weekend, and thanks for understanding. Love you all :)

Will stumbles to breakfast the next morning looking like he’s been through hell and back.

To be fair, he probably has; but his appearance is almost comical. His hair is fluffed up on one side and pushed down on the other, his eyes are still slightly unfocused from sleep, the bags under his eyes standing out in a stark contrast to his blue eyes. Under different circumstances, Hannibal might have laughed, but Will honestly looks like he didn’t sleep at all.

“Hi,” Hannibal says as Will plops down into a chair at the table, resting his elbows on the table and rubbing his eyes.

“I didn’t sleep,” Will states. Hannibal turns away from the counter and walks over to the table, sits in the chair across from Will.

“I couldn’t. I don’t know, Hannibal… I just feel…,” Will trails off.

“Dirty,” Hannibal finishes for Will. Will nods, avoiding Hannibal’s eyes. “It’s a common thing among rape victims; the desire to get clean, but not being able to.”

Will flinches at the word rape and turns his head away from Hannibal.

“I was drunk, but I still _felt_ it. I was still…present, I guess,” Will mumbles. With a start, Hannibal realizes that Will didn’t mentally leave himself until _after_ the rape. Hannibal resists the urge to hug Will, instead setting one hand on top of Will’s hand on the table.

“I-I tried to tell him no, but he-he,” Will bites his lip and stares upwards, blinking fast to keep the tears out of his eyes. “He _laughed_ at me…called me princess when-when I screamed, told me no one would hear me…”

Hannibal is torn between feeling anger towards the man and feeling utterly terrible for Will.

“You don’t have to tell me this,” Hannibal tells Will softly.

“I do-I…I’m not done yet,” Will laughs bitterly and tears roll from his eyes, tears that Hannibal desperately wants to kiss away. “It felt-it reminded me of that time…in your office-on the table, when you tied my hands…or was that a dream?”

Hannibal’s heart breaks for Will.

“I-,” Hannibal starts. Will interrupts him.

“Hannibal… I need to know… d-did we do things? Sexually? Things like that? Or was-,” Will’s voice catches. “Was it a dream?”

“Will…,” Hannibal half-whispers. What is he supposed to say?

Will gets up and leaves. He grabs his coat off the coat rack by the door and seemingly debates whether to go outside or not before deciding to change first. Hannibal hears the door to Will’s room slam shut, then a few minutes later the front door opens and shuts loudly.

Hannibal stands up from the table calmly and goes over to the kitchen counter, opening a cabinet and pulling out a blue ceramic plate. The blue reminds him of Will’s eyes.

Hannibal throws it against the kitchen wall. It shatters, offering Hannibal little satisfaction. Hannibal stalks out of the kitchen and goes to the window, scanning the street for Will, briefly debating going after him. He decides against it.

Will walks down the street away from Hannibal’s house, not even sure he knows his way back.

Bedelia Du Maurier watches Will leave Hannibal’s house, sunglasses covering her eyes and a hat covering her face. She watches Will for a moment longer before turning and walking up to the door of Hannibal’s house, knocking twice. The door is pulled open in front of her a little quicker than she might have hoped; she realizes he must have been hoping for Will to return.

“Hannibal,” She greets him.

“Hm,” Hannibal grunts, eyes fixed on a point somewhere over Bedelia’s shoulder. Bedelia dismisses his lack of a greeting and pushes her way past Hannibal, inside the house. She takes off her jacket and sunglasses, delicately laying her coat on the back of one of Hannibal’s chairs and setting her sunglasses on top of it. Bedelia takes off her hat and puts it on top of the coat and glasses. Hannibal watches her with something resembling contempt as Bedelia turns to face him.

“We need to talk,” Bedelia states, clasping her hands together.

“What would you like to talk about?” Hannibal says, voice strained, barely hiding his anger.

“Will Graham,” Bedelia drawls, smiling slightly.

Hannibal’s eyes narrow and he folds his arms.

“Hannibal, I know he’s been here,” Bedelia smiles, her voice so sweet that it almost makes Hannibal sick. Hannibal steps closer to Bedelia, barely a foot away from her, expecting her to step back, but she holds her ground.

Will, walking down the street, realizes he forgot his phone. He decides his phone—his safety—is more important that a fight with Hannibal. He turns around and heads back the way he came.

“Why?” Bedelia asks, staring up at Hannibal. “Why do you care so much about Will Graham?” She draws out Will’s name, eyes flitting between Hannibal’s eyes and his lips. “What do you see in him?”

Will curses under his breath as he walks down the street, trying to remember what house is Hannibal’s. How has he forgotten this already?

“Will is my friend,” Hannibal hisses.

“Mm, more than a friend, I think,” Bedelia stares openly at Hannibal’s lips now, and Hannibal is getting more than annoyed with her.

Will finally recognizes Hannibal’s house, walking up the steps. He wonders if Hannibal will even let him in; he tries the doorknob and finds it unlocked.

Bedelia hears the front door open and grabs Hannibal’s neck, crashing his lips onto hers. Hannibal’s eyes shoot open in surprise and his stomach drops.

Will stands in the doorway, looking absolutely _crushed_. Will’s mouth is open in disbelief and his eyes are slowly filling with tears. Hannibal tries to push Bedelia off, and she lets him, backing off and grabbing her stuff off the chair where she left it. She smiles—more of a smirk, really—at Hannibal, waving slightly, brushing past Will and out the door, pulling it shut behind her with a click that seems to echo through the house.

Will breaks eye contact with Hannibal and blinks the tears from his eyes.

“I, uh, I just came for my phone,” Will’s voice doesn’t crack, surprising him.

“Will…” Hannibal manages.

Will steps past Hannibal and walks towards his room. Hannibal turns to follow him, feeling numb.

“Will, wait,” Hannibal pleads, grabbing Will’s wrist before he knows what he’s doing. Will flinches, drawing into himself, and Hannibal quickly releases his arm, drawing his own arm up to his chest. Will slips into his room and closes the door behind him softly, tears stinging his eyes.

Hannibal stands in the hallway, feeling like he can’t breathe.

Will leans against the back of his door, tilting his head back against it. Will waits until he hears footsteps walk back down the hallway before sliding down the door so that he’s sitting in a ball, back against the door, knees to his chest. Will rests his arms on his knees, buries his face in his arms, and sobs.


	16. Chapter 16

Hannibal throws things. Plates, cups, picture frames, even a lamp. Anything that will shatter.

Will covers his ears, trying to block out the sound of every object that hits the walls or the floor.

After all the plates are broken, Hannibal leaves the house. He doesn’t know where he’s going, just that he needs to get out.

Will hears the front door slam and hesitantly peeks out of his room. Hannibal’s coat is gone, and so are his keys and shoes, so Will leaves his room.

The aftermath of Hannibal’s breakdown (if you can call it that) is strewn all about the house.

Will stares numbly at the mess. The broken lamp Hannibal left lying on the floor reminds Will of the one he broke when he learned of Jack’s death. Plates and glasses smashed on the kitchen floor and dents in the kitchen wall remind him of the ones he broke when Abigail died.

_Why was he so angry?_ Will wonders dazedly. _It’s his own fault._

Will sees blood on the kitchen floor. A trail of it leads to the front door, stopping there. Will dimly realizes that it’s Hannibal’s blood; he must have cut his feet on the glass on the floor.

_Stupid bastard_ , Will thinks, not completely without affection.

Will goes back to his room and gathers his stuff, which isn’t much; just his phone and jacket. He pulls on his socks and shoes, shrugging his jacket onto his shoulders and shoving his phone inside his jacket pocket. He surveys the room, jaw clenched, trying to ignore the tears starting to sting his eyes. He makes the bed, neatly folding his sheets and leaving them near the foot of the bed, then leaves the room, closing the door softly behind him.

Will walks to the kitchen, sweeping broken glass into one corner with a broom he found by the doorway. He finds a rag in the cupboard underneath the sink and wets it, carefully wiping the blood off the floor. When he’s done, he leaves the rag on the drying rack by the sink.

Will finds a pen and paper in Hannibal’s study and scrawls a note onto it, folding it, labeling it _Hannibal_ , and setting it on the kitchen table.

After he’s done, Will leaves Hannibal’s house, turning his coat collar up against the cold and trying hard not to look back. He calls for a cab, climbing inside when one stops and telling the driver the address of his hotel. The driver gives him a strange look but drives, and only when Will catches a glimpse of himself in the rear-view mirror does he understand why the man looked at him oddly.

For one thing, he’s crying. Will hadn’t even realized. He wipes his eyes with his coat sleeve hastily.

He also looks like he hasn’t slept in days.

Will supposes that’s appropriate, because he hasn’t.

Will raises a hand to his face, touching the cut on his cheek from where the man shoved him into a wall.

“We’re here, mate,” The cab driver says, accent foreign, interrupting Will’s train of thought. Will must have been daydreaming.

_British,_ Will notes of the man’s accent. _Or maybe Australian?_

Will pulls out his wallet, but the man holds up his hand and smiles, motioning for Will to just leave the cab. Will smiles gratefully at the man, climbing out of the cab and walking into his hotel. He waves a hello to the front desk manager on his way in, goes to his room, and starts to pack up his stuff.

Hannibal comes home to a silent house. He goes to Will’s room and opens the door.

Hannibal doesn’t know what he expected, but it wasn’t this.

The room is empty. Will’s sheets are folded neatly at the end of the bed.

Hannibal feels…sick? Empty? He doesn’t know what he feels, but he knows it’s not good.

He softly shuts the door to Will’s room and goes to the kitchen. To his surprise, the glass pieces are piled in a corner of the kitchen, the blood wiped off the floor. There’s a note on the kitchen table labeled _Hannibal_ in Will’s handwriting. Hannibal unfolds the note carefully and reads it.

_Hannibal,_

_Thank you for everything. You were—and always will be—my best friend, my favorite memory, my best mistake._

_I’m sorry I wasn’t good enough for you._

_-Will_

_~~P.S. I still love you.~~ _

Hannibal sees, rather than feels, the tears dripping onto Will’s note. Hannibal reads the note over and over; after the third time, his knees buckle and he finds himself sitting on the kitchen floor, sobbing.

_This is why you should never get so attached to something you could lose,_ Hannibal reminds himself bitterly, mentally rebuking himself for being so…sentimental.

_~~P.S. I still love you.~~ _ ~~~~

Hannibal dazedly gets up from the floor and goes to his room, body seemingly on autopilot, legs feeling numb. He grabs his phone from where it sits charging on the bedside table, typing in a familiar number before he realizes he’s doing it.

Hannibal calls Will.

“Pick up, pick up, pick up,” Hannibal murmurs to himself.

_You’ve reached Will Graham._

“No, no, dammit,” Hannibal mutters.

_Sorry I can’t take your call right now,_ Will’s voice says, and Hannibal has to remind himself to breathe, it’s only a message. _Please leave a message._

Hannibal runs his hand through his hair and sighs.

“Will,” Hannibal starts, not even sure what he’s going to say. “Y-You were always good enough for me. You might think we were a mistake, but I don’t.”

Hannibal bites his lip and sighs softly, walking around his room with one hand pushing his hair back from his forehead.

“I still love you, too,” Hannibal says quickly, before hanging up and hurling his phone at the wall. To his disappointment, it doesn’t shatter—just cracks—and still turns on when he presses the power button.

Will, in his hotel room, hears his phone ring but dismisses it in favor of stuffing his clothes into his suitcase.

_Whoever it is will leave a message,_ he reminds himself.

Once he finishes packing, he goes to check it.

_One new message,_ the screen reads. _Press 1 to play._

Will presses 1.

_Will,_ Hannibal’s voice says. Will gets the sudden urge to run out of the room.

_Y-You were always good enough for me._

Will’s eyes fill with tears and he sits down on the bed, holding his phone—and his sanity—in one hand.

_You might think we were a mistake, but I don’t._

There’s a pause.

_I still love you, too._

The message ends.

A sob rips itself from Will’s throat, and he briefly thinks that he should just go back to Hannibal.

_You made up your mind already,_ Will miserably reminds himself, dropping his phone and putting his face in his hands, crying. _This is why you should never get so attached to someone you could lose._


	17. Chapter 17

Will doesn’t think to call Freddie until he’s at the airport. He curses under his breath and fishes his phone out of his pocket as he sits in the waiting area for his plane.

“Freddie?” he asks into the phone when it stops ringing.

“I’m afraid Freddie is a little busy,” A familiar voice drawls through the phone.

Will feels the blood running away from his face; he knows he's probably white as a sheet right now, but he doesn't care.

“Matthew?” Will gasps.

“You got it, sunshine,” Matthew croons, and Will can hear the smirk in his voice.

“I-I thought you were dead,” Will exclaims, earning a glance from more than a few people. Will doesn’t notice; if he does, he doesn’t care.

“Oh, sweetheart, it’s really not hard to trick the FBI these days,” Matthew says in a singsong voice. “You’d never believe that they fell for the old ball-under-the-arm trick.”

“You-they said your heart stopped,” Will stutters in disbelief. “They buried you, they wouldn’t let me-,” Will swallows the rest of that sentence, stopping himself before he can give away anything.

“It pays to have friends in the business of death,” Matthew states. “Oxygen tank in the coffin; they dug me up after a couple hours.”

Will suddenly remembers the reason he called.

“Where’s Freddie?” He demands.

“Oh, she’s… _fine_ , aren’t you Freddie dear?” Matthew assures Will.

Will hears the sound of the phone being pressed to someone’s ear.

“I’m fine, Will,” Freddie hisses through the phone. “Just a little _tied up_ at the moment.”

Matthew’s muffled voice comes through the phone, and Will barely makes out the phrase “you think you’re real clever” before the sound of a sharp slap and Freddie’s wince makes Will flinch.

“Matthew, I swear to God, if you hurt her-,” Will threatens hollowly.

“You’ll what? You’re already at the airport, Will darling,” Matthew sings. “There’s nothing you can do.”

“How do you know I’m at the airport?” Will questions, looking around self-consciously.

“I have eyes everywhere, William,” Matthew croons.

Will runs his hand through his hair and sighs. In the background, Will can hear Freddie’s occasional groans of pain, and it makes him feel…guilty.

“What do you want?” Will asks.

“You,” Matthew murmurs, sending chills up Will’s spine.

“Wh-why do you want me?” Will’s voice shakes and he desperately tries to keep it steady. An old woman across the seating area looks at him oddly, and Will tries to make a reassuring gesture. The woman turns away, her lip turned up in disgust.

“I miss what we had, Will,” Matthew smirks. Freddie cries out loudly in pain in the background, and Will feels sick.

“Terms,” Will chokes out.

“Your hotel—well, the one you just left—at midnight,” Matthew says.

“Midnight? Isn’t that a bit cliché?” Will says, trying to seem strong.

“Will, don’t do it!” Freddie’s shout comes through the phone, followed by a _bang_ that makes Will’s stomach drop.

“What’s in it for me?” Will asks weakly.

“You gain something you just lost,” Matthew drawls.

“Hannibal…,” Will says before he can stop himself.

“You lost a fuck-buddy, Will,” Matthew’s voice goes hard, and Will finds it hard to breathe. “I can give you a lover.”

Will swallows hard. He shuts his eyes tight for a moment, then opens them, glancing at his watch. 6:30 pm. That gives him…what, five and a half hours?

Will sighs.

“Will Freddie be safe?” Will asks.

“Define _safe_ ,” Matthew hums.

“You’ll let her go, and never touch her or anyone I know ever again,” Will says quietly.

“Deal,” Matthew smirks. “See you at midnight, Will.”

The phone line goes dead and Will stands up, grabbing his suitcase and leaving the airport.

Will calls for a cab. The driver asks for an address and Will mulls it over for a moment before telling the driver Hannibal’s address.

_What the hell,_ Will thinks. _I’ve got nowhere else to go._

The drive there is longer than Will expected, and silent.

When the driver stops, Will pays the man before stepping out of the cab and onto the sidewalk. He stares at Hannibal’s door for a solid five minutes for gathering up the courage to knock.

_I can’t believe I’m doing this,_ Will thinks. _He doesn’t want me anymore. Why should he?_

He knocks once.

No answer.

No answer.

Three times.

Will hears footsteps approach the door and mentally steels himself, taking a deep breath and holding his head up high.

Hannibal opens the door, looking like a wreck. When he sees Will, his eyes go wide.

“Will,” He breathes out, and _oh god, he sounds so relieved,_ thinks Will.

“I-can I come in?” Will asks.

Hannibal moves aside so that Will can walk in the door, shutting the door behind Will and offering to take his coat. Will declines, instead setting his bag down by the door and sitting down on Hannibal’s couch, staring numbly ahead at nothing. Hannibal remains standing, waiting for Will to speak.

“I just,” Will’s voice catches in his throat and he starts over. “I just came to say goodbye.”

Hannibal feels like someone just punched him in the gut.

“You shouldn’t have come, then,” Hannibal says coldly to hide how betrayed he feels, crossing his arms.

_I knew he was lying when he said he loved you,_ some part of Will's conscience tells him.

Will looks up at Hannibal, and Hannibal sees tears in Will’s blue eyes.

“Let me explain-please,” Will pleads, searching Hannibal’s face for a sign of emotion, anything. Hannibal stares at Will coolly and waits for him to speak.

“Matthew called me,” Will mumbles, and Hannibal expertly hides his double take.

“I-He has Freddie,” Hannibal’s eyes narrow at that; Will completely misses it. “And I couldn’t just let him hurt her…we-we made a deal, me for her,” Will says, feeling completely helpless. He feels his tears on his cheeks and wipes at them futilely. “I have to meet him at my hotel at midnight… Hannibal, I-I’m so s-scared…after what happened the other night…”

“Why are you so afraid of Matthew?” Hannibal asks coldly. “After all, you sent him to kill me.”

Will does his best to glare through his tears at Hannibal.

“When I was in jail… he had control of the microphones and the cameras…,” Will trails off, expecting Hannibal to pick up on what he's implying.

Hannibal raises an eyebrow at him, waiting for him to continue, and Will shudders a sigh. “I-… He found me… attractive, I went along to gain his trust…”

From the look on Hannibal’s face, he’s completely missing the message.

“We-we had sex,” Will says, as bluntly as possible, blushing hard. “Sometimes—no, usually—not…um…not consensual…”

Will’s eyes blur with tears at the memories and he drops his head into his hands to hide his face.

“Will…,” Hannibal’s facade drops and he sits on the couch next to Will, drawing the younger man closer to him. Will folds his arms to his chest and sobs into Hannibal’s shoulder. Hannibal runs his fingers through Will’s hair and draws random, soothing patterns on Will’s back with his other hand. Will cries until he can’t anymore, then looks up at Hannibal helplessly.

“What am I gonna do?” Will asks, and Hannibal’s heart wrenches.

“We’ll figure it out,” Hannibal soothes, placing a kiss on the top of Will’s head, and Will feels like maybe everything will be alright.


	18. Chapter 18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow guys. 2000+ hits, 125+ kudos, lots of comments, and 9 bookmarks!! I honestly never expected this. Thanks so much!!

Will has to be absolutely emotionless for this to work.

The problem is, he doesn’t think he can do it.

Hannibal knows this, and he doesn’t want to scare Will, but he has to.

“Matthew doesn’t want a wreck,” He tells Will. “He wants the old you, the one from prison. Someone who is a mental and physical match for him, someone who can keep up with him, even someone who doesn’t _feel_.”

Will looks at the floor, breathing deep.

“Will, I’m serious,” Hannibal says. “Matthew is dangerous; he won’t hesitate to kill you if he doesn’t like what he gets, and I don’t want you getting killed.”

Will tilts his head up and looks Hannibal in the eyes.

“Detach yourself from the situation if you have to, but don’t lose control.”

Will nods numbly.

It’s only seven o’clock; he still has five hours till go-time.

Hopefully Hannibal’s plan works.

“Maybe you should take a shower,” Hannibal suggests.

Will looks at Hannibal, puzzled.

“If he’s anything like me, he’ll smell me on you.” Hannibal remarks.

Will’s eyes widen slightly and he nods.

“Um, wo-won’t he smell you on me anyway? I mean, I’m in your house…my clothes smell like you,” Will points out, trying to ignore the suggestive meaning those words could have.

Hannibal mulls this over for a moment, biting the inside of his cheek as he does so.

“While you shower, I can go buy you some different clothes. There will still be the possibility of him smelling me on you, but it won’t be as great.” Hannibal says, trying to sound confident.

Somehow this doesn’t reassure Will at all, but he nods anyway.

Hannibal points Will towards the shower, waiting until the bathroom door clicks shut behind Will to leave the house, locking in behind him.

Will stands in the bathroom, trying not to remember the last time he was in this bathroom. Will closes his eyes tight, but the memories come anyway.

_I, um, I’m not sure I can, um, undress myself…_

Hannibal’s soft, sad smile flicks through his mind and Will’s eyes jolt open and he shakes his head, trying to clear his thoughts.

Will quickly strips off his shirt, wincing at the now yellow-green bruises and fading scratches freckling his chest. He tugs off his pants and boxers, biting his lip when he catches sight of himself in the mirror.

_If Matthew doesn’t want a wreck, I’m screwed,_ Will thinks. The scar on his stomach from where Hannibal stabbed him stands out, a slightly raised line of pale white against the skin of his stomach. Bruises of varying colors bloom across his legs and chest; when he turns, he sees that they cover his back, too, as well as long red streaks that probably came from the man’s fingernails.

_That’s funny,_ Will thinks bitterly. He hadn’t even felt fingernails.

Will turns on the shower, adjusting the water temperature and stepping into the shower, drawing the curtain behind him. He lets out a sigh as the water hits his skin, warm and refreshing, reveling in the sting that comes when the water hits the scratches on his back.

Will takes longer than expected in the shower; once he finally gets out, he briefly considers putting on his old clothes but decides against it, wrapping a towel around his waist instead. When he walks out of the bathroom, he finds Hannibal sitting in a chair in the living room, phone to his ear, eyes fixed on a point somewhere out the window. Hannibal’s eyes flit to Will briefly, and Will fights the blush creeping into his cheeks, clutching the towel to his waist tightly and avoiding Hannibal’s eyes. Hannibal smiles slightly, muttering something into the phone before hanging up and setting the phone on the arm of the chair. Hannibal walks over to Will, getting so close to Will that he can feel the younger man’s breathing. Will stares up at Hannibal, and Hannibal sees the pure _trust_ in Will’s eyes, but also something he can’t place…hurt? Will’s eyes flit downwards to the floor.

Hannibal steps closer to Will, forcing Will to move back; Hannibal follows Will until Will hits the wall, his back pressed against it, Hannibal in front of him. Will could run if he wanted to, because Hannibal isn’t blocking his sides, but Will stays, one hand on his waist to hold the towel up and the other against the wall. Will meets Hannibal’s eyes, a question plain on his face.

_What are you doing?_

Hannibal smiles at Will, but his eyes are sad. Will doesn’t relax.

“You have to learn to when shut down in sexual situations,” Hannibal murmurs to Will. “And how not to lose control when you do so.”

Will’s breath catches in his throat.

“Can you shut down now?” Hannibal asks gently.

Will shuts his eyes tight, trying to detach, but to no avail. He sighs and shakes his head.

Suddenly Hannibal is right up against him, lips inches from his.

“I guess we’ll have to find out how far you can be pushed before you shut down,” Hannibal smirks. “Do you trust me?”

_No,_ some part of Will urges him to say.

“Yes,” Will replies, eyes fixed on Hannibal’s.

Hannibal closes the gap between their lips, kissing Will hard and messy, tongue and teeth everywhere, biting, licking, sucking. Will’s chest feels tight, but he kisses back, matching Hannibal’s passion. Hannibal pulls of his suit jacket without breaking the kiss and unbuttons his shirt. Will knows he should be doing something, but it’s all he can do to focus on Hannibal’s mouth. Hannibal yanks off his shirt, throwing it across the room. Hannibal moves his lips from Will’s lips, resting their foreheads together.

“Matthew will be rough,” Hannibal points out, looking at Will with something resembling worry. Will cocks his head slightly, not understanding Hannibal’s meaning. “Do you want me to be rough to prepare you?”

Will’s eyes widen, and he swears his heart misses a beat. The room is silent except for their breathing, and Will thinks his heart is beating so loud that Hannibal can hear it. Hannibal gazes at Will, waiting for an answer.

Will doesn’t meet Hannibal’s eyes as he nods softly, only once.

“You can tell me to stop,” Hannibal says as he grabs Will’s hand in his own. “But you won’t be able to tell him to stop.”

Will nods again, biting his lip, still avoiding Hannibal’s eyes.

Hannibal kisses Will again, harder this time, forcing his right leg between Will’s legs and grinding against Will’s crotch, making Will moan into his mouth and completely lose his grip on his towel. Hannibal smirks at Will and puts his arms on the wall beside Will’s shoulders. Will couldn’t run now, even if he wanted to.

Will’s eyes are closed and he’s biting his lip in bliss from the friction he’s getting from Hannibal’s leg against his erection. Hannibal pulls his leg away, and Will’s eyes open and he gasps. Hannibal grabs a fistful of Will’s hair with one hand and jerks Will’s head back against the wall, exposing Will’s throat.

Hannibal desperately wants to leave his mark on Will, but he doesn’t want to get Will killed.

Instead, Hannibal picks Will up roughly and half-throws him onto the couch, stepping out of his pants and boxers as he does so. He climbs on top of Will, pressing down onto the other man, lining their erections up against each other and moving back and forth, drawing moans from both of their mouths. Hannibal moves slightly so that they’re no longer pressed together and kisses Will before placing three fingers of his left hand in the younger man’s mouth.

“Suck,” Hannibal tells Will. Will hesitates, but then wets the fingers with his spit, running his tongue over them and savoring the taste. Hannibal abruptly pulls his fingers out of Will’s mouth and pushes two of them into Will’s entrance.

Will cries out, back arching and writhing on the couch. Hannibal holds him down, willing him to adjust.

“Tell me to stop,” Hannibal suggests.

“No, no-ahh,” Will pants, tears pushing themselves from his eyes. “I-I need to do this…,”

Hannibal grabs Will’s wrist with his other hand, checking his pulse discretely.

“Can you shut down now?” Hannibal asks.

“Wh-what? N-no, of course…not,” Will says, trying to breathe steady, muscles finally relaxing slightly.

_He’s too emotional when it comes to sex,_ Hannibal realizes. _It’s the thinking that happens after sex that he can’t deal with._

Hannibal moves his fingers slowly in and out of Will, waiting patiently for Will to relax.

“Do you remember the first time we had sex?” Hannibal decides to try another route.

Will nods, breath coming in short bursts and moans as Hannibal adds a third finger.

“Afterwards, you cried,” Hannibal says, and Will flinches at the memory. “Why?”

Hannibal wraps his right hand around Will’s erection, stroking it softly, making Will buck his hips, searching for more friction.

“Answer the question, Will,” Hannibal crooks the fingers of his left hand, hitting Will’s prostate.

“I-I don’t know!” Will shouts, closing his eyes.

“Look at me, Will!” Hannibal urges the younger man, still moving his fingers in and out if Will. “Why. Did. You. Cry?”

“I don’t know!” Will insists.

“Yes you do, Will! Why did you cry?” Hannibal yells, hardening his voice. “Was I hurting you? Were you scared? Or did you just not know how to act after sex? Why did you cry, Will?”

Hannibal sees it, the moment Will shuts down.

Will dissolves into little whimpers, eyes unfocused, hands clutching at Hannibal’s arms. Hannibal removes his fingers from Will and pushes his cock inside, just to make sure Will won’t come back, and Will’s whimpers hardly even change pitch. Will’s eyes gaze into Hannibal’s, but Hannibal knows that Will isn’t actually seeing him.

Hannibal almost weeps with relief. He pulls out of Will, still stroking Will’s erection, and finishes Will off. Will’s orgasm comes with barely a moan, instead of his usual yell. Hannibal leaves the room and finishes himself off in the bathroom, eyes closed, mouth open in a moan; he can’t bring himself to take advantage of Will in the state he’s in.

When Hannibal walks back into the living room, Will is sitting on the couch with his towel over his lap. Will looks up at Hannibal and smiles slightly, and Hannibal can’t help but smile back.

“I guess I’m going to need another shower,” Will remarks.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, guys, we're getting close. I'm thinking maybe 1-3 chapters left.


	19. Chapter 19

Eleven twenty-three.

Will can’t breathe.

 _Detach yourself from the situation if you have to, but don’t lose control._ Hannibal’s words ring through Will’s head as he calls for a cab outside of Hannibal’s house.

If all goes well, he’ll be back before tomorrow night.

After five minutes of waiting, a cab finally pulls over for him. Will tells the driver the address of the hotel and pulls his phone out of his pocket, hitting speed dial number three.

“Alana?” Will asks when the phone picks up.

“Will?” Alana responds, sounding surprised.

“Um, Alana, I-,” Will takes a deep breath, composing his thoughts. “I just want you to know-,”

“Are you in trouble, Will?” Alana cuts him off, immediately jumping to conclusions. “I swear to God, if Hannibal did something to you, I’ll rip his freaking-,”

“Alana, no, it’s not Hannibal’s fault!” Will stops Alana. “I-I don’t know how to explain this…”

“Well, you better try,” Alana demands.

“Um, okay,” Will huffs a sigh. “You remember Matthew Brown?”

“Yes,” Alana murmurs. “That bastard.”

“Well, he’s not dead,” Will says quickly.

Alana is silent for a moment.

“What the _fuck_ do you mean ‘he’s not dead’?” Alana shouts into the phone, and Will winces and moves the phone away from his ear.

“He faked it somehow, I don’t know-,” Will does know, but he just doesn’t want to tell Alana.

“Jesus _Christ_ , Will. And he’s involved in this how?” Alana questions.

“He followed us here—or maybe he was already here, I don’t know—and kidnapped Freddie…” Will

“And let me guess, you made a deal? You for her?” Alana says, sounding borderline hysterical.

“Yes,” Will mutters miserably.

Alana sighs into the phone, and Will swears she's about to cry.

“Will,” Alana finally says, voice cracking as she says his name. “Please tell me you have a plan…”

“I-I have a plan, Alana…,” Will assures her. Oddly, Alana doesn’t feel very assured.

“Is it a good one?” She asks hesitantly.

“I think so-,” Will starts.

“Does it involve Hannibal?” Alana cuts him off.

“Yes,” Will replies, half-waiting for Alana to shout at him.

“What’s his phone number?” Alana sighs.

“What?” Will asks. “I thought you had his number…”

“Not since that night,” Alana states, swallowing hard.

“Oh, sorry,” Will stutters. Alana mutters an “it’s okay” and Will gives her Hannibal’s number, hearing the scratch of pen on paper in the background.

Will starts to hang up.

“Wait, Will?” Alana asks hesitantly. “Be…be careful, okay?”

“I will, Alana,” Will replies, knowing he’s lying.

As soon as Will hangs up, Alana calls Hannibal. She half expects it to go straight to voicemail, but the phone rings three times before a familiar voice answers.

“Alana?” Hannibal asks, surprised.

“Hannibal,” Alana says coldly.

“Why… why are you calling?” Hannibal’s confused voice almost makes Alana laugh.

“I just talked to Will,” Alana says. Hannibal makes a sound of realization.

“You want me to tell you what the plan is,” Hannibal responds, half as a question.

“No,” Alana bites her lip, tears brimming. “I want you to tell me that he’s going to be okay.”

Hannibal hesitates, and Alana jumps on his silence.

“You don’t know if he’s going to survive,” Alana states.

Hannibal is afraid to say anything; he thinks if he does, he might cry. He’s the one who led Will into this mess, and now he’s not even sure if he can get Will out of it.

Hannibal expects Alana to yell at him, but instead he gets soft words through the phone.

“Okay,” Alana’s voice cracks again and tears trace lines down her cheeks. “Then at least promise me you’ll do everything you can to get him out alive.”

“I promise, Alana,” Hannibal says. He can at least promise that.

“He’s the closest I have to a family, Hannibal, and I’m sure I’m the closest he has to one, too,” Alana’s full-on crying into the phone now, not caring what Hannibal might thing of her. “Keep. Him. Safe.”

“I’ll do my best,” Hannibal assures Alana, and hangs up.

Alana still doesn’t feel very assured.

Will breathes in and out deeply, trying to stop his heart from pounding so hard, as the cab stops in front of his hotel. Will checks his watch.

Eleven forty-four.

The hotel is closed for the night; no lights are on, except those in a few rooms, and no one’s at the front desk.

 _A silent night,_ Will thinks to himself, and laughs nervously.

The cab drives off, leaving Will completely alone.

Eleven fifty.

Will paces up and down the sidewalk, mentally steeling himself for the task at hand. He adjusts the deep green scarf Hannibal bought for him, and straightens the matching coat. He runs over the plan in his head, convincing himself—or at least trying to, anyway—that it _will_ work.

Eleven fifty-five.

A teenage girl walks by on the other side of the street with her dog trailing behind her on a leash. She waves slightly at Will, but strides past without a comment. Will watches her leave, some part of him knowing that she may very well be one of the last humans he sees, if Hannibal’s plan doesn’t work.

Will breathes deep, steadying his pulse.

Eleven fifty-nine.

The seconds tick by so slowly that it makes Will want to tear his hair out. Instead, he straightens his posture and purges all emotion from his face.

 _Breathe,_ he reminds himself.

Twelve o’ clock.

Will turns around, facing the hotel.

Leaning against the very corner of the building is a jean-clad man wearing a baseball cap, one hand in his pocket, the other flipping a coin over and over in the air.

“Matthew,” Will says, addressing the figure, voice even.

“Call it, Will,” Matthew calls out, flipping the coin again. He catches it in his hand and looks over at Will, smirking.

“Tails,” Will says shortly.

Matthew opens his palm and holds the coin out to Will, still smirking. Will raises an eyebrow at Matthew, but walks over to him, taking the coin from him.

In one swift motion, Matthew grabs Will’s wrist and spins them both so that Will’s back is pressed against the wall of the hotel and feels Will’s pulse.

“Mm, elevated,” Matthew notes, pleased.

Will clenches his jaw and looks away from Matthew.

“Aw, no eye contact? I thought we moved past that,” Matthew croons as he braces his hands on the wall, blocking Will’s exits. Will forces himself to keep his breathing steady, keeping his hands clenched at his sides, still avoiding Matthew’s eyes. Matthew sighs is exaggerated exasperation.

“I suppose you want the girl,” Matthew murmurs. Will gives Matthew his best ‘obviously, dumbass’ look as Matthew pulls away from Will, swinging his arms out comically before shoving them in his pockets.

“C’mon out, bitch,” Matthew shouts, sighing again as Freddie emerges from the alley behind the hotel, sporting a black eye and hugging her bare arms against her chest. There’s blood on her tank top, and she’s not wearing a coat even though it’s pretty cold outside. Will takes off his coat quickly, revealing another lighter jacket underneath, and jogs over to Freddie and drapes it over her shoulders. She hugs at it appreciatively.

“What the hell are you doing, Will?” Freddie hisses as quiet as she can.

“We have a plan,” Will whispers, by way of explanation, quickly assessing Freddie’s wounds, which are—thankfully—nothing too serious.

“’We’ meaning you and Hannibal, of course,” Freddie murmurs, glancing over Will’s shoulder at Matthew. “I hope to God it’s a great plan.”

“I think it is,” Will says, not sure if he’s trying to convince himself or Freddie. Freddie gives him a look and opens her mouth to say more, but Matthew interrupts them.

“Okay,” He says in a singsong voice. “That’s all, now. Run along, bitch; Will and I have somewhere to be.”

Freddie hugs Will, whispering a “be careful” in his ear before hurrying off in the other direction.

Matthew watches her go, grinning widely.

“She was so feisty,” Matthew smirks. “Wouldn’t give you up, ha.”

Matthew walks closer to Will and Will has to physically force himself to stay still.

“She just _insisted_ she came alone,” Matthew feigns puzzlement.

“Which was stupid, because I checked the flight records.” Matthew laughs.

Will glares at Matthew.

“You’re awfully quiet, Will,” Matthew steps into Will’s space, tracing Will’s jaw with one finger. Will resists the impulse to back away, clenching his jaw.

“Well, save the screaming for later, I guess,” Matthew giggles, pressing a kiss to Will’s neck. Will’s stomach drops, but he hides it, tilting his neck, baring it to Matthew, and Matthew pulls away, smirking at him.

“Let’s get going then, shall we?” he grins.

Strong hands grab Will from behind, and a rag is pressed over his mouth. Will dimly recognizes the smell of chloroform and knows better than to fight it, relaxing instead. He feels himself being carried towards a car and set in the backseat, Matthew climbing in after him. Matthew’s hand tracing patterns on his thigh is the last thing he feels before he passes out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, I lied. There will probably be 3-4 chapters after this one, depending on how fast this goes. Thanks for reading, love you all!! :*


	20. Chapter 20

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 2-3 chapters left, darlings. Love you all!! Constructive criticism and suggestions are much appreciated ^_^

Will wakes in an unfamiliar room.

He can’t see anything, and panics for a moment before he realizes that there’s a blindfold over his eyes.  

His left leg is asleep, and his neck hurts terribly. He goes to rub his eyes, but finds his hands bound. He realizes he’s on a bed, shirtless, hands tied to a metal rung on the headboard. He cranes his neck to examine the ties that bind his hands, peering under his blindfold so that he can see, and finds them to be zip-ties; his stomach drops, but then he remembers what Hannibal taught him about escaping zip-ties and his breathing returns to normal. He shifts his arms uncomfortably, testing his bonds.

“You’re awake,” Matthew’s voice says from what Will guesses is a doorway, judging that Matthew only just came into the room.

“You know, you didn’t have to drug me,” Will retorts. “I would’ve come on my own.”

“Would you have?” Matthew says, and Will can _hear_ the grin plastered on Matthew’s face.

“Do you really think so little of me?” Will asks bitterly. “I made a deal, of course I’m going to follow through.”

“Are you now?” Matthew’s voice draws closer, and Will has to remind himself to breathe normally.

“Of course,” Will smirks, tilting his head upwards suggestively.

Soft lips touch his own, and Will smiles to conceal the hard beating of his heart.

“I guess we’ll see about that,” Matthew whispers, and Will can feel Matthew’s breath on his lips.

Something cold and cylindrical is suddenly placed against his jaw, and Will stills, muscles tensing.

“Aw, the little copper’s scared of the gun,” Matthew croons.

Will forces himself to relax.

“You know, Will,” Matthew’s voice moves away from Will and so does the pressure of the gun against his jaw.

 _The gun is just a power play,_ Will tells himself.

“I’ve decided something,” Matthew continues.

Will is silent for a moment before he realizes that Matthew is waiting for him to speak.

“And what would that be?” Will asks, holding out the “what” longer than necessary, just because he can.

“You’re not a hawk, Will Graham,” Matthew’s voice hardens slightly. “Neither am I.”

“Then what are we?” Will questions, cocking his head to the left slightly.

“Eagles,” Matthew’s voice comes in a whisper this time, beside Will’s right ear.

“We need each other, you and I,” Matthew’s voice raises slightly in volume. Matthew leans closer to Will’s ear and catches Will’s earlobe in his teeth, biting gently. Will nearly flinches at the sudden contact, but instead he makes himself tilt his head away from Matthew, baring his neck to the man. Matthew takes this as an opportunity to press his lips to the bend of Will’s neck, sucking and biting and kissing a love bite into existence. Will’s breath hitches, and Matthew’s lips curve into a smile against his neck.

The bed lowers slightly as Matthew climbs onto it, positioning himself on top of Will so that he’s straddling Will’s hips, and tracing his hands over Will’s chest. Matthew’s fingers ghost over the scar Hannibal left on Will’s stomach, and this time Will can’t hide his flinch. Matthew notices this and smiles, even though Will can’t see his smile.

“I don’t like that _he’s_ marked you,” Matthew whispers, hissing the word “he” in disdain. “And I haven’t.”

Will’s breath hitches, but he knows he has to play the part Matthew wants him to, or the plan will never work.

“Maybe we should do something about that,” Matthew murmurs.

The distinctive sound of a knife being pulled out of its sleeve makes Will’s blood run cold, but he hides his fear—or at least, he hopes he does.

The blindfold is suddenly pulled from his face, and Will’s eyes are drawn to the small silver hunter’s knife in Matthew’s hand. He distractedly notices that Matthew is shirtless, too.

 _Equals,_ Will thinks absentmindedly, eyes still trained on the knife that Matthew is now spinning around between his fingers.

“You know, this is the same one I used to slash Hannibal Lecter’s wrists,” Matthew smirks. “It’s funny-,” a small chuckle. “I scarred him, he scarred you.”

Will doesn’t find this funny, and he glares at Matthew.

“You don’t think so?” Matthew grins. “Fair enough. We’ll fix that soon enough, anyway.”

Matthew traces his fingers over Will’s chest, stopping on a point just under Will’s right collarbone. He smirks at Will and holds the knife over the spot, and Will has to literally force himself to breathe. Matthew kisses Will, at the same time scratching the letter “M” into Will’s skin, just deep enough to scar. Will’s eyes clench shut and he grips the headboard with his hands so hard that his knuckles turn white. It’s all Will can do not to groan into the kiss.

Blood runs in three small streams onto the mattress, making Matthew laugh slightly when he pulls away from Will to admire his work.

“So pretty,” Matthew murmurs in appreciation—of the _M_ , of Will, maybe of both; Will can’t tell.

Matthew wipes the blood off of Will’s chest with his hands, making Will’s new wound sting, and Will hisses in pain; his reaction only makes Matthew grin wider; Will makes the brief comparison of Matthew to the Cheshire Cat.

 _You have to convince yourself that you’re in control of the situation,_ Hannibal had told Will before he left. _Tell yourself that it’s your game and he’s the one you’re playing._

Will doesn’t feel very in control, but he know he has to fake it.

He wonders briefly what Hannibal would do in this situation.

Will loses his train of thought when Matthew, still seated on top of Will, presses his lips to the _M_ , simultaneously pushing his hips against Will’s. Will gasps at the sensation; pain shoots through his chest, but the feeling in his lower region is almost enough to make him forget about it.

Matthew smirks and kisses Will hard, biting, licking, pulling—practically fucking Will’s mouth—and Will can taste the blood, his blood, on Matthew’s lips. All the while, Matthew keeps grinding on Will’s lap.

Then, as soon as it happened, it’s over.

Matthew pulls away from Will and gets off of him, standing beside the bed, glancing at the beginning of Will’s erection in his pants to the bloody _M_ on Will’s chest, then smirking as he meets Will’s eyes. Will feels his cheeks burn hotly in a blush, but he forces himself to hold Matthew’s gaze, pulling the corners of his mouth up in a small smile.

“Aw, fuck it,” Matthew laughs. “I was gonna make you wait, but you look so _damn_ pretty.”

Will smiles wider even though he feels sick to his stomach.

Matthew throws the knife in his hand across the room and practically lunges at Will, pushing Will’s legs apart to kneel between them and crashing his lips onto Will’s. Will kisses back with passion, pushing his head towards Matthew’s even though it leaves his arms in an uncomfortable position. Matthew fists one hand in Will’s hair, undoing Will’s belt with the other. Will rolls his hips up in mock encouragement and smiles into their kiss. Matthew throws Will’s belt across the room but leaves Will’s pants on, then pulls back, his eyes sweeping over Will appreciatively and Will bites his lip in what he hopes is a seductive move—it really ends up being more of an embarrassed thing—and Matthew laughs.

“You’re trying to be good for me,” Matthew states. He leans in close to Will’s ear, pressing their bodies together, budding erections so close together that Will fights the urge to rut against Matthew for friction.

“I liked it better when you fought me,” Matthew croons, the knife appearing in his hand seemingly out of nowhere and cutting the ties binding Will’s hands.

Will gasps and rolls his shoulders, wincing at the sting of the _M_ on his chest when he does so. Matthew watches patiently.

“Fight me,” Matthew says, when he decides Will has had enough stretching. “Just like old times.”

Will throws a punch—he doesn’t know why—catching Matthew in the cheekbone and sending him off the bed. Matthew laughs from the floor and stands up, a cut on his cheek barely starting to bleed.

“Do it again!” Matthew taunts. Will stands up on the bed, ignoring Matthew’s raised eyebrow, and kicks Matthew squarely in the chest, sending the younger man to the floor once again.

This time, Matthew coughs, and his face hardens in anger, though his eyes still dance with amusement. Matthew pushes himself off the floor and regards Will, the former just barely realizing that standing on the bed might not be such a good idea, before Matthew tackles him.

Will falls ungracefully to the floor, landing on his back with a cry of pain, wondering how he managed to not hit his head on anything—there’s a dresser right beside the bed, for God’s sake.

In a second, Matthew is on top of him, straddling Will’s waist with his arms pinning Will’s arms to the floor.

Will almost smiles.

Matthew does smile, and pushes in for a kiss. Will lets Matthew kiss him for a moment, before using his weight to roll them over so that Will is straddling Matthew instead.

Matthew just laughs and grinds his hips up into Will’s. Will is reminded of the last fight he had with Hannibal that ended up like this, and is distracted enough for Matthew to roll them over once again.

Will lets him. He lets Matthew kiss him hard, lets Matthew pick him up off the floor and set him on the bed, climbing on top of him; he’s preoccupied with his thoughts until Matthew, noticing Will’s unresponsiveness, pushes his hand to the _M_ on Will’s chest.

Will is jolted back into reality, and his first reaction is to groan; instead he pushes himself onto his elbows to kiss Matthew. Matthew moans his pleasure shamelessly, fingers working off his and Will’s pants. Will rolls his hips up and lets Matthew pull his pants and boxers off, and watches while Matthew smoothly strips out of his. Matthew fumbles in a drawer of the dresser by the bed for a moment before producing a small bottle of lube. Will watches numbly while Matthew spreads the lube over his length, maintaining eye contact with Will the whole time.

Will remembers what their sex was like in the hospital, and suddenly his muscles tense up. His mind makes the jump between his hospital time and his first day in this country, when he was…raped, and suddenly Will feels like he might cry, or throw up, or both.

 _Detach yourself from the situation,_ Hannibal’s voice reminds him.

 _How?_  Will miserably asks his imaginary Hannibal.

 _Remember the first time we had sex?_   Imaginary Hannibal responds gently.

 _Yes,_ Will answers.

Matthew pushes inside of Will without warning, and Will cries out in pain, drawing a (probably exaggerated) moan from Matthew.

 _Hannibal,_ Will shouts at his imaginary Hannibal. _Get me out of here._

 _Why did you cry afterwards? Were you scared? Was I hurting you? Did you just not know how to act after sex?_  Imaginary Hannibal prods.

 _I don’t know!_   Will screams.

Matthew starts thrusting, hard and fast, in and out, and Will thinks he’s crying but he’s not sure and Matthew just laughs. Will’s hands are clutching the sheets so hard that his knuckles are completely white. This reminds him too much of rape.

 _Yes you do, Will,_ Imaginary Hannibal insists.

 _No I don’t!!_ Will sobs.

 _Yes you do._ Imaginary Hannibal states calmly.

 _I don’t!!_ Will screams hysterically.

 _Will,_ Imaginary Hannibal says smoothly. _Why. Did. You. Cry?_

Will’s mind goes blank.

He sees nothing but the gold pendulum, swinging back and forth, erasing everything but him from existence.

When Will “comes to”, Matthew is gone, Will’s _M_ has stopped bleeding, and the room reeks of sex.

Will draws his knees up to his chest and cries, not caring if Matthew comes back and sees him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That one was 2000+ words, compared to my usual 1300 or so. I don't know whether to say oops or wow.


	21. Chapter 21

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I told you I would have it up on Sunday!! Thanks for waiting so patiently!! Hope you enjoy!!

Four grueling hours.

Four hours of on-and-off-again pain for Will, and who knows how long he had been unconscious before that.

Four hours pass before Will signals Hannibal.

The signal is simple, really. Just a phone call.

Hannibal said Matthew would be too caught up in his “victory”, so to speak, that he would forget to take Will’s phone. Will silently thanks whoever is in charge upstairs for Hannibal being right, and pulls his phone out of his coat pocket once he finds his coat, speed dialing number one.

“331 Via Dei Tulipani,” Will says once the phone picks up, telling Hannibal his location.

“How do you know?” Hannibal asks, just to make sure.

“Google maps,” Will shrugs, even though Hannibal can’t see him. “Also, Matthew told me, probably on accident.”

“One hour,” Hannibal responds. “Can you wait that long?”

“Probably,” Will hopes he’s not lying, and ends the call, shoving the phone back into his coat pocket.

Will goes to the bathroom connected to his small room and shuts the door, looking at himself in the mirror.

He looks like an absolute _wreck_.

The _M_ on his chest is red and raised, his entire torso is littered with bruised and love bites, and there’s a sore pink bite mark on his right shoulder. His wrists are raw from various ties that Matthew used, his back is covered in red fingernail scratches, and his hair—there’s no other way to describe his hair but sex hair, sticking out every which way. He sighs and gazes sadly at his reflection, watching his eyes fill with tears. Will’s ‘detachment’ had only worked once—that first time—out of the five times Matthew had…fucked him, even though he had tried every time. Matthew had goaded him every time, his taunts of “isn’t this better than Hannibal?” punctuating almost every thrust and punch and scratch Will took.

Will forces a smile onto his face and runs his fingers through his hair in an attempt to fix it.

 _If Matthew wants a sociopath, that’s what he’ll get,_ Will resolves.

Then he catches a glimpse of his smile—no, it’s not a smile, he doesn’t know what it is—in the mirror and tears push themselves into his eyes again.

 _How did I get myself into this mess?_  Will wonders.

He bites his lip to keep from sobbing, closing his eyes and breathing deeply.

One hour, that’s all.

An hour—actually, probably less, now—to play a heartless sociopath.

Will hears the door to the room open and Matthew’s singsong voice calling out,

“William, where are you?”

Will feels sick, maybe with rage, maybe with panic, maybe with real sickness, he doesn’t know.

“Just a second,” Will yells, rubbing his eyes. He presses a finger to his wrist to check his pulse before pulling the bathroom door open.

Matthew is leaning against the doorway, sweatpants pulled over his hips. His torso is clear, but his back is covered in scratches.

 _My scratches,_ Will notes in dry amusement. _I put them there._

Matthew smirks, walking over to Will. Will raises an eyebrow at Matthew but holds his ground, watching as Matthew sweeps his eyes over Will’s bruises and scratches appreciatively.

“This is good, isn’t it, Will?” Matthew drawls.

“The two of us, together,” Will says, a statement laced with a question.

“Yeah,” Matthew’s close enough now that Will can feel Matthew’s breath on his lips. “We could stay like this forever…”

“Forever,” Will repeats numbly.

“We could run away,” Matthew suggests, tracing his finger over the bite mark on Will’s shoulder.

“Where would we go?” Will asks coyly.

Matthew seems to ponder it, chewing on his lip, his finger pausing in its absentminded tracing on Will’s jawline.

“America,” Matthew says finally, lips drawing upwards in a smile.

“I’m a wanted man in America,” Will points out. “ _You’re_ a wanted man in America.”

“The police never bothered me,” Matthew smirks, placing a kiss on the curve of Will’s neck.

Will only sighs.

“Besides, we could go somewhere nice, like California,” Matthew drawls. “I could become the new Zodiac Killer.”

Will almost chuckles at that.

“Please, Will?” Matthew asks, sticking his bottom lip out in a comical pout.

Will only smiles sadly and pushes his lips against Matthew’s, feeling Matthew smile into the kiss. Matthew runs his hands across Will’s bare chest, making Will shiver.

**_CRASH_ **

Matthew’s attention snaps from Will to whatever made the noise. Matthew looks angrily in the direction of the commotion before plastering a smile on his face and kissing the side of Will’s mouth gently.

“Be right back, darling,” Matthew croons, the smile on his face now replaced by a harsh scowl. 

Will lets out a loud sigh as Matthew leaves the room.

 _Goddamn,_ he thinks. _Why did I even leave America?_

A loud bang startles Will, wrenching him from his thoughts. He looks up to see a sweaty Hannibal with one hand on the doorframe and one on his shoulder, blood seeping through his fingers.

 _That’s strange,_ Will’s eyebrows furrow in confusion. _I didn’t hear anything. And it hasn't even been an hour..._

Hannibal’s eyes sweep over Will, assessing his damage, and his expression goes cold.

“Come on,” Hannibal pants. “We’re getting out of here.”

Will thinks that he’s never been more relieved in his life.

“Grab your shirt,” Hannibal reminds him, and Will looks for his shirt for a moment before he grabs his coat instead, shrugging it over his shoulders.

The house is strangely quiet as Will and Hannibal make their way to the front door.

 _Something’s not right,_ Will thinks as he glances nervously over his shoulder.

“D-did you see Matthew?” Will asks Hannibal hesitantly, zipping his coat to cover the scratches on his torso.

“No,” Hannibal replies, and Will’s stomach drops. Now Will desperately wants to ask how Hannibal got his shoulder wound. “Doesn’t matter, we’ve got to leave.”

“Hannibal,” Will says, and Hannibal stops, turning to face him. “Something’s not right.”

“I know,” Hannibal hisses, looking over Will’s shoulder with a hollow look in his eyes. “That’s why _we’ve got to go._ ”

The cold metal of a gun barrel presses against Will’s temple and his mind goes blank.

Hannibal’s eyes clearly show the panic that Will feels too, but his face is a mask of nonchalance.

“No, Hannibal,” Matthew’s cold voice monotones. “ _You’ve_ got to leave.”

Will fights the rising panic in his stomach, keeping his eyes fixed on Hannibal’s.

“Will,” Hannibal says softly.

“ _Don’t_ fucking talk to him,” Matthew snaps, yanking Will backwards away from Hannibal and making Will fall into his arms.

Hannibal tilts his head at Matthew questioningly and Will tilts his head backwards to look at Matthew.

“You fucking _hurt_ him, asshole,” Matthew continues. “You _stabbed_ him, for God’s sake.”

Hannibal’s eyes flit briefly to Will before glancing back up at Matthew coldly.

“And if that wasn’t _enough_ ,” Matthew rants. “You had to go and _kiss_ another _woman_!”

This time, Hannibal stares at Will in surprise and disbelief. Will looks guiltily at the floor between Hannibal’s feet.

 _When did I tell him that?_ Will wonders. _I can’t even keep track of what I’ve said and what I haven’t._

Matthew smirks at Hannibal’s reaction and drags Will to the nearest chair, setting Will gently in it and turning towards Hannibal.

“He doesn’t want you,” Matthew smiles ruthlessly.

 _Yes, I do._ Will thinks, wishing he had the courage say this aloud.

“You hurt him, and then you left him.”

_Yeah, but that was mostly my fault._

“You used him and abused him.”

_So did you._

“You made him feel things for you.”

_Those are my words…how…_

“You absolute _bastard_.”

Will hits the ground before he even knows he’s moving, his feet connecting with the backs of Matthew’s knees and sending Matthew to the ground. Will sits on top of Matthew, straddling him, and delivers blow after blow to Matthew’s face. Will doesn’t stop punching Matthew until he’s dragged off of Matthew’s unconscious body by Hannibal.

“Will,” Hannibal says softly, patting the side of Will’s face with his hand. “We need to leave.”

“Yeah,” Will pants, eyes half-glazed from adrenaline.

Will starts to lead the way to the front door, but only gets as far as the doorway of the room before the metallic click of a gun safety stops him in his tracks.

Will whirls around to find Matthew sitting up, gun leveled at Hannibal’s chest. Will shoves Hannibal behind him, sending the older man into the doorframe, and dully registers the “bang” of the gun being fired.

Will's chest feels like it’s on fire, and he falls backwards on the floor. He sees Hannibal jump over him and wrench the gun from Matthew’s hands; a second later Matthew’s body slumps over limply.

Hannibal skids on his knees to Will’s side, quickly assessing Will’s wounds with a medical precision. Blood is slowly staining Will’s dark green coat a dark brown color, and Will is breathing hard, eyes fixed on Hannibal. Hannibal rips the zipper open to get a better view of the wound, eyes lingering longer than they should on the red "M" on Will's chest. Hannibal tears his gaze away from the letter, searching Will's chest for the bullet wound. 

It’s almost a straight shot to the heart.

Hannibal feels like he can’t breathe; he knows he can handle this situation, but _there’s so much blood everywhere and it’s Will’s and it’s my fault, goddamnit_ repeats like a mantra in his head.

Will’s hand shoots out to grab Hannibal’s in a death like grip— _no don’t think that, he could actually be dying, dammit—_ and Hannibal has to fight to keep his composure.

Will coughs, staining his lips red with blood from his— _supposedly_ , Hannibal reminds himself—punctured lung.

“H-Hannibal,” Will struggles, a smile working its way painfully across his face. “Do you rea-read Game of Th-thrones?”

 “What kind of question is that?” Hannibal half-laughs, half-sobs at Will’s question. "Are you not going to ask how I got here so fast? Or what happened to my shoulder?"

“A-answer,” Will coughs again, clenching Hannibal’s hand harder. "Please..."

“Yes,” Hannibal’s tears trace trails down his cheeks as he squeezes Will’s hand back gently. “Yes, I’ve read them.”

Will takes a deep breath and coughs once more, seeing blackness starting to eat away at his vision.

“If you think this has a happy ending—,” Will starts, and Hannibal absolutely loses every ounce of composure he had left, sobbing against Will’s chest and clutching Will’s hand.

“Let-let me finish, dammit,” Will nearly laughs, grimacing in pain. “If you think this has a happy ending, you haven’t been paying attention.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry, sorry, sorry >.


	22. Chapter 22

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for not posting. I have no excuse other than that I am a lazy ass. The last few chapters are in the works, though, and they will be up soon; I promise.

Hannibal pulls Will’s phone out of his pocket and calls Freddie. It’s the only thing he can think to do.

“Freddie,” He says as soon as she picks up, cutting short her ‘oh my god’.

“What happened, Hannibal?” Freddie asks, her tone ice-cold.

“Will got shot,” Hannibal says, hearing Freddie’s sharp gasp on the other end. “I need you to get here _fast._ ”

There’s silence from Freddie as she waits for Hannibal to explain more.

“I called the police, but I can’t be here when they show up…I figured that since Freddie Lounds is always first on the scene America, why not be first on the scene in Europe…,” Hannibal trails off, realizing he’s rambling.

“Wait, why the hell can’t you be there when the police show?” Freddie demands.

“I-I can’t be accused for Will’s murder, and you _know_ they’ll blame me…” Hannibal mumbles helplessly. Freddie goes quiet, and Hannibal half thinks she hung up on him.

“Address,” Freddie says, wondering briefly just how bad Will is.

“331 Via Dei Tulipani,” Hannibal responds, almost weeping with relief.

“I’ll be there in 10,” Freddie states. “You’d better get lost.”

"Thank you so much, Freddie—," Hannibal starts, but Freddie cuts him off.

"I'm not doing this for you, Hannibal, I'm doing this for Will," Freddie retorts, and hangs up.

Hannibal sighs and looks down at Will’s unconscious body, torn between staying with him and leaving. He tears a strip off his shirt and wraps it carefully around Will’s chest, turning him over delicately so as not to hurt him more. Once Will’s wound is as properly bandaged as possible, Hannibal leaves.

Freddie’s car pulls up to the scene exactly ten minutes later; the only trace of Hannibal is a note on the door reading:

_Take care of him –H_

Freddie stuffs the note in her pocket.

_You can’t be too careful these days._ She assures herself as she wipes the last traces of the tape from the door.

Freddie finds the door unlocked and steps inside.

Nothing could have prepared her for the scene inside.

There’s blood spattered on the walls and furniture, and a rapidly growing pool of blood around the corpse-like body of Will Graham. A strip of fabric is wrapped loosely around Will’s chest, a deep crimson staining the fabric a darker color.

Freddie briefly remembers all the times she wished Will Graham was dead.

_I can’t let him die,_ Freddie decides, and sets about wrapping Will’s wound better. She glances around the room as she does so, noticing the limp form of Matthew Brown on the ground a small distance from Will. Freddie’s mouth drops open at the sight of Matthew; she has to look twice to make sure it’s really him.

_Matthew’s dead? For real? Thank God,_ Freddie thinks, chewing on her bottom lip thoughtfully. _Or rather, thank Hannibal._

As far as she can tell, the bullet causing Will’s bleeding is still imbedded in his chest. The bullet missed his heart by a mere centimeter, but Freddie worries that the bullet might have hit a major artery, judging from how much blood is gushing from Will’s chest.

Freddie pulls Will’s phone out of his pocket, scrolling through it for Hannibal’s number. When she finds it, she types it into her own phone—Will’s is too sticky with blood—and prays that Hannibal has his phone on him.

Thankfully, Hannibal picks up on the first ring.

“Freddie?” Hannibal asks, and Freddie knows that Hannibal must have been waiting for her call.

“Hannibal…,” Freddie starts. “It’s—,”

“It’s not looking good, I know,” Hannibal says, trying but failing to sound nonchalant.

“Not only is it not looking good, but I’m…,” Freddie trails off, biting her lip and sighing before continuing. “I'm not sure he’s going to make it.”

“Me neither,” Hannibal murmurs quietly, and hangs up.

Freddie pulls her phone away from her ear and stares at it in disbelief.

_Hannibal doesn’t think Will is going to make it? Christ, it must be worse than I thought,_ Freddie worries, hearing sirens in the distance and praying they aren’t too late.

The sirens are getting closer by the minute, so Freddie double-checks that she has her camera with her—just in case.

_I can play the innocent bystander who happened upon a crime scene, and if that doesn’t work, I’ll pull the reporter card,_ Freddie reminds herself, hoping that the police will buy her story.

“Ma’am, I’m going to have to ask you to exit the crime scene,” An officer startles Freddie out of her thoughts, laying a hand on her shoulder. 

_When did they get here?_ Freddie wonders.  _I didn't even hear them come in._

"Ma'am, I need you to leave," The officer says, his grip on Freddie's shoulder increasing.

_Nope, fuck the innocent bystander and the reporter,_ Freddie decides. _I have to stay with Will._

“B-but sir, he’s my brother,” Freddie cries, forcing tears into her eyes—actually, more like just letting them show—and trying to make a scene. “I can’t just leave him on his own! He’s the only family I have left from America! Please, sir, let me go with him!”

“Ma’am—,” The officer starts, looking uncomfortable, removing his hand from Freddie’s shoulder. “I’m sorry, but—.”

Freddie starts to cry.

“For God’s sake, Jenkins, let the lady stay with him,” another—apparently—higher ranking officer says to Freddie’s obstacle-officer.

Jenkins nods to his superior and points over to the ambulance that Will, strapped onto a gurney, is being loaded into. Freddie mutters a quick “thank you” to Officer Jenkins and runs over to the ambulance, pushing past the medical staff with protests of “he’s my brother,” and a couple jabs of her elbows. Freddie climbs into the ambulance, gazes out across the crowd, and makes eye contact with a man near the edge of the assembly.

_Stupid bastard,_ Freddie thinks. _Why did he come back?_

Freddie nods to Hannibal, who nods back just as the ambulance doors close.

Once inside the ambulance, a woman with blue gloves and a facemask shoves a blanket around Freddie’s shoulders and turns back to Will, not even bothering to ask who Freddie is.

_A shock blanket_ , Freddie realizes, and almost laughs. _I’m not in shock._

“Male, Caucasian, no exact age recognizable, but I’d guess somewhere in the late thirties,” the blanket-nurse half shouts, a man in a suit beside her scribbling rapidly on a clipboard.

_She’s American,_ Freddie notices.

“Signs of sexual trauma to the rear, incision on—our left—his right side of the chest, bullet wound on—our right—his left; scratches on the back, various bruises along the torso, tie marks around the wrists and lower arms, finger imprints on the upper arms and throat…”

_Maybe I am in shock,_ Freddie thinks miserably. _Sexual trauma? Oh Will, what did he do to you?_

“Ma’am,” The nurse turns to Freddie. “Do you know this man?”

“Y-yeah,” Freddie says, eyes fixed on Will’s unconscious body.

The man scribbling on the clipboard stops, and sits down next to Freddie while the nurse turns back to Will.

“What is your relation to this man?” Clipboard-man asks.

Freddie doesn’t answer, still staring numbly at Will’s body.

The clipboard man sighs.

“My name is Sam,” He says, resting a hand on Freddie’s shoulder, startling her back into reality. Freddie dimly realizes that he’s American too. “Sam Wesson. I’m a lawyer.”

“A…a lawyer? Why…,” Freddie trails off.

“We think this man may be involved in other cases from the states—,” Sam starts. Freddie immediately becomes more alert, glaring at Sam.

“Jesus fucking Christ!” Freddie nearly shouts, cutting Sam off. “He just got shot, and the law is already on his ass?”

Sam winces.

_At least he has the decency to look sympathetic,_ Freddie notices, glaring at Sam nonetheless.

“If we can prove that he was being, shall we say, _controlled_ , all charges will be dropped. He is Will Graham, is he not?” Sam states.

Freddie hesitates for just a second too long.

“I’ll take that as a yes, then. The dead man in the house was identified by an anonymous stranger as Matthew Brown,” Sam explains. “Now, Miss Lounds—,”

“How did you know my name?” Freddie interrupts again.

“You’re famous in the reporting world, Miss Lounds,” Sam smiles. “I used to be a reporter. I’d know you anywhere, although your death was a very popular topic about a month ago. Or are we still pretending that you’re Mister Graham’s sister?”

“I think we can keep up the sister thing for now, thank you,” Freddie says, impressed by Sam’s recognition of her. “And please, call me Freddie.”

“Alright then, Freddie,” Sam shuffles some papers around on his clipboard and handing it all to Freddie. “Here’s what we know so far. If you could fill in some gaps, that’d be great.”

Sam stands up, and the nurse monitoring Will quickly pulls Sam to the side.

“Does she know?” The nurse asks.

Sam shrugs.

“Why did you tell her all that stuff?” The nurse inquires.

“She needed to hear it,” Sam shrugs. “Plus, we weren’t even sure yet. Now at least he’ll die with a cleared name.”

“You’re not even a real lawyer yet!” The nurse whisper-shouts.

“But I look like one,” Sam winks at the nurse playfully, earning himself a slap on the back of the head. “I didn’t lie to her, though! Everything except the part about me being a lawyer is true.”

“This is serious!” The nurse says.

“I know it is. We could clear his name if we get that information,” Sam sighs, and runs a hand through his hair.

The nurse sighs softly and crosses her arms.

“I knew him, you know. Will was my high school science partner, actually.” Sam huffs a laugh, looking at Will’s unconscious form wistfully, as if remembering better times.

The nurse doesn’t say anything, waiting for Sam to continue.

“That’s why I jumped on this call,” Sam says. “He seemed…untouchable in high school. I couldn’t believe he was dying.”

“You believe it now?” The nurse asks, adjusting Will’s oxygen mask slightly. Sam nods.

“I almost wish I didn’t,” Sam smiles bitterly.

Freddie steps in between the nurse and Sam, shoving the clipboard into Sam’s chest. Sam winces and rubs his chest.

“Ah, what’d you do that for?” He asks.

“You’re not a lawyer,” Freddie spits. “You’re an intern with a hospital, studying law as an undergrad. You lied to me. You lied to me, and my friend is laying on that table bleeding out, and you _fucking_ gave me hope that he might live—,”

Tears push their way from Freddie’s eyes.

Sam looks sad, and he steps forward, resting a hand on Freddie’s shoulder.

“I didn’t lie. That information could clear his name.”

“But he’s dying, isn’t he? What good is it going to do if he’s dying? You know what, don’t answer that,” Freddie asks, looking from Sam to the nurse. “Just tell me the truth. Is Will going to die?”

“Yes,” the nurse says simply, replacing Sam’s hand on Freddie’s shoulder with her own and guiding Freddie to sit down. “He’s dying. Unless a miracle occurs, he’ll be gone by tomorrow night; but you know God works—,”

“If you say ‘in mysterious ways’, so help me, I will kick your ass,” Freddie mutters, ignoring the nurse’s startled expression and closing her eyes, resting her head in her hands.

_No, there must be some mistake, they read the machines wrong or something,_ she thinks. _Will can’t die. He can’t die! This is too fast; he cannot die like this…_

“He can’t die!” Freddie shouts, standing up and throwing the nurse’s arm off her.

“Ma’am—,” the nurse starts, but Sam shakes his head at her.

“Why aren’t we at the hospital yet?” Freddie cries, the ambulance driver murmuring something about five minutes in response.

Freddie moves around the gurney to be near Will’s head.

“Will Graham, do you hear me?” Freddie yells. “You cannot die! Wake up! Wake up, wake up, wake up, you bastard!”

Freddie barely feels the hands that pull her off Will and set her on the ambulance bench, barely feels the tears streaming down her face and dropping on the floor, barely hears the shouting that has everyone else covering their ears.

_Will Graham is dying,_ Freddie realizes. _And there’s nothing I can do about it._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, Sam Wesson is a Supernatural reference; sorry, I just couldn't help myself ^_^. He's not really an important character though, but he'll appear in at least the next chapter, as will the nurse. Sorry for throwing in a new character so late in the story, and sorry for making him kind of an asshole; it was just important that I get the point across that Will's name could possibly be cleared.  
> And sorry if you think this chapter isn't as high-quality as the rest.


End file.
